The Heron and the Crane
by Alexnandru Van Gordon
Summary: It’s time to play and Crane still isn’t caught. Ra’s Al Ghul hasn’t finished what he started and he’s not about to let any of his “partners” slip free just because of a little setback…
1. Chapter 1

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

A new chapter for my other stories will come up, but both my sisters and my close cousins wouldn't stop bugging me until I wrote this. I and I _really_ mean they wouldn't stop bugging me, in the sense that they kept stealing my computer disks and deleting files I saved onto the computer until I agreed. Cilian Murphy played an insane psychiatrist very well and his part as Scarecrow was well done in Batman Begins. But if you remember what Gordon said at the end of the movie, half the crazies and Crane were still on the loose…

**THIS IS NOT A POEM! I start it off with one though…**

SUMMARY: It's time to play and Crane still isn't caught. Ra's Al Ghul hasn't finished what he started and he's not about to let any of his "partners" slip free just because of a little set-back…

DISCALIMER: Do I own them…I'd have to double-check, but I'm sure I don't…Just joking. We all know there's no possible way I could even own Batman Begins.

CHAPTER ONE: Aftereffects

There was a poem he remembered, one that he learned when he was young. Leaning against the side of the building, steam rising from the gutters in the dark of the night, his mind wandered back to the words just for relief…just to forget the situation he was in now.

_The heron and the crane, what a day—what a day_

_The silly sun just doesn't set_

"_If you start to fly, I'll come close behind_

_And this I shall make as a bet."_

_The crane thought it long, the crane thought it hard_

"_And why would I fly not a noon?"_

"'_Cause I have a plan that will rise in the stands,_

_And the world comes to end all too soon—_

"_If I fix the sun, then you fix the moon_

_I promise you this, old dear crane_

_The earth will be free from the honey and bees_

_And all of us left will be sane."_

_A nod and a thought and away went the crane_

_To do as the heron had told_

_But when it was done, still broken the sun_

_The heat waves the feathers it scorned_

_Wounded and bleeding, the crane went to hide_

_Lost in its fear of the light_

_But the heron was mad and decided to stand_

_And wanted to put up a fight_

_Long ago the sun tried to destroy the old bird_

_Blinding with rays of its life_

_The earth was afraid and with the sun stayed_

_Away from the heron's old strife_

_But vengeance and fear and the end was so near_

_The heron went after the crane_

_To finish what started, the shades to be parted_

_White from the black and the gray_

What a true tale it was…He wondered if someone wrote it after the League of Shadows had destroyed other nations. Maybe it held that secret message, a repeat of everything Ra's Al Ghul was up to. If so, he hoped to God he wasn't the crane. He was broken…insane…and that powder Ghul gave him brought him nothing but trouble. Well…the moon was all the people in power, the earth was Gotham, the heron was Ghul, and the sun could only be the big bad Bat that ended everything.

God he hoped Ghul was dead…Ghul held a grudge like no one Crane had known before. Crane remembered talking to him once over the phone after the news that Bruce Wayne wasn't dead after all. Ghul made a comment along the lines of _'he burned down my house—I burn down his'_ and hung up promptly. Crane still had no clue what that was about, but, later on when he found a newspaper on the ground, there had been an article on page eight about the drunken Bruce Wayne burning down his own mansion. The bastard was lucky he was a billionaire otherwise that would cost him too much of a pretty penny. Lucky indeed…

He had other things to worry about.

He had no idea how he accomplished it but he made his way off Arkham Island and into the city. He stayed one night hidden in an alleyway and then moved the next night to an abandoned apartment. His was partially blinded from the zapper that Rachel girl shot at his eyes, but the mask protected him more than what he thought possible. Nevertheless, he had no idea how he escaped that one night and slid away unnoticed.

Tripping into the old building, he made his way blindly into a small dark room and leaned his back against the wall. Pulling the mask off his head, he dropped it to the floor before sliding down and sitting, bones aching and muscles burning in protest of further movement. And no matter how many times he tried to open his eyes all the way it wouldn't work. All images were blurry—shadows, really, with a bit of colour…

Sighing in defeat he hung his head forward and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do now—nothing he could do for a while. The moment he was found he would be locked up in Arkham as a permanent resident, a crazie like the rest of his old patients. Gotham would catch the rest of the crazies and "Batman" would go home happy knowing he had saved a rotten city. Was the man insane? Dressing up like a flying rodent was one thing, but trying to stop someone like Ra's Al Ghul was plain suicide. It had been all over the news—not to mention Ghul would be back for round two sooner or later.

God, he hoped the man was dead…The newspaper, or what he could make of the bold headlines, stated that the train was found but no bodies…

But wishes, he learned long ago, never came true. When he was younger he wanted his father to either leave or die, a hard man who brought his cane across Crane's shoulder blades if the boy didn't get A in every subject. He was a lawyer and that would account for most of his hate toward the current justice system. His father's clients were always innocent men condemned to a life worse than death or rapists and murderers who were set free from his father's hard cases. Then the rest of his hate came from those drunken and twisted fools who chased him as a boy down the street on his way home from school or to the corner store to buy something for his mother. No one who deserved to die died, and anyone who deserved better than what they got only seemed to drop farther from society's so–called good grace. Gotham deserved to fall helplessly into Ghul's cold hands of justice…but when Crane figured out Ghul was planning to kill everyone…then he began to wonder who society was safe with. Maybe he should go on hating the bastards who ran the show, tormenting his (now fellow) crazies back in Arkham Asylum.

Now it was too late…

He had to make a plan—leave Gotham and escape anyone who knew he should be locked up in the asylum. Sure, he was a little off the rocker due to his hate for the bad people (partially why he loved scaring the hell out of them with his mask) of Gotham, but it was the dust that really knocked him over the top. It was wearing off quite nicely now and that was because he was hit with a temporary dose, and—honestly—he'd rather go to jail then stay tied up with the crazies. It really hurt his pride to be called insane but…after what he had done, there was no way they were going to simply put him under arrest. Criminals thought excusing their actions with insanity was a good win in court—but that was before they lived in an asylum. If you were sent to Arkham—which you most likely were if you lived in Gotham—there was no escape. You were forever labeled mentally ill and you would wear a straight jacket until the end of your days if you were proven highly dangerous…like Crane was…

He slammed the back of his head against the wall and he almost wished it knocked him out. He was royally screwed this time—no doubt about it. There was no way of escaping Gotham with the tight security going around, not to mention the big bad bat and Ra's Al Ghul lurking in the shadows…Oh—and how he could he forget Ghul's League of Shadows? There were still a great number of them hiding around Gotham, probably finding Ghul and getting him back to health so he could finish what he started.

He was immortal, wasn't he?

Yes…there was some fountain he found and that kept him alive…so long as he drank from it? Was that the legend? He couldn't remember and he really didn't care. Ra's Al Ghul alive meant more trouble for him. It was almost enough to make him wish he was back in Arkham…No. Ghul would probably put on his Décard act if he needed Crane. And why would he need Crane?

Because if he was going to use a city-wide panic attack to destroy Gotham and that machine (what have you) to disperse it into the air was destroyed, Ghul needed a new method to send it around and more of the chemical which Crane, alone unfortunately, knew how to make.

When he said he was royally screwed, he meant it.

But there had to be a way all around this. He was a doctor for God's sake—he had enough brain to formulate something…Quick enough was another matter altogether, but eventually he'd come up with something. Maybe there was something he was missing, stepping over…All he had to do was escape the city and then he'd be able to do anything from there on out. But the city was practically under arrest until all the crazies were caught!

Of course, he was going around in a damn circle.

He hated to admit it, but he'd need help. Who from, though, was beyond his imagination. He needed someone to sneak him out of the city and the he'd be free…free as a bird…free as a stupid crane…that was followed by the heron…

Honestly—he should have seen it coming from a mile away! The one time he had a try at crime, he got caught—and suffered to the maximum for it.

…Long live Gotham…

Wow—he really was a crazie. Already rambling at random thoughts…

-R-

Dying and returning to life was his specialty, save for the times he didn't actually die but had his body tossed around like a rag doll. At least in death his body regenerated peacefully, but when you were wide awake with all the pain you sometimes wondered if it was worth being partially immortal.

As the fire grew, he passed out, some of his men swarming around to drag him away from danger. He almost wanted to stay, to see if he could burn to death after such a failure. Bruce…why had he done it? Why had he betrayed him and turned against justice himself. Ghul wanted to believe that Bruce was simply mistaken…but there was no excuse now after all that the man had done. He was no better than the criminals he couldn't kill because of a weak heart. It was such a disappointment…such a disappointment…

Why?...

Alas—questions were of the past. All he needed to know was whether or not Bruce was still with him and tonight the man confirmed that he was against Ghul all the way. No matter how similar two people's goals can be, the methods make them enemies. That was what was told between them.

Everything was just shades to be parted, the white from the black and the gray. Gotham, too dark a tone to determine if it was really gray anymore, had to go. New York should probably go with it too and maybe even a lot of other cities but Bruce's town held top priority at the moment. It would have been nice to destroy it all in one night but that idea was out the window—not to mention his only alleyway to send his chemical into the air was at its end. By time he found another way to turn the water to a vapor, it would have all run through Gotham and out into the river, traveling downstream to a decent (or what you supposedly call decent) city. Heck—and only Crane knew how to make it. All the samples he had of the actual chemical were drained the few weeks before. That meant he would need the man…

But was he even alive! After all, he was trapped on Arkham Island with all the other loonies from the asylum and he was a thin man of brains, not a hand on hand fighter. By the looks of things, a man could snap Crane in half like a twig. It was fear that he used as power…an intelligent thing to do. After all, wasn't that what Ra's Al Ghul was using to destroy a city? He wasn't ready to go door to door with a knife and a shotgun to kill every person of Gotham, though paying a kill visit to Bruce sounded nice right about now.

Ugh—he had other things to worry about than that man, like how he was going to dish panic out again to the people. A bomb…no, that would take far too long to make and even then Gotham would get over it. Gotham had a knack for surviving and he needed to kill _everyone_…

When he first awoke he was in a room. Where it was, maybe a hotel, he had no idea, but he wanted to get up and finish Bruce off right then and there. He'd have to find him…and soon.

One of his men stood in the corner, revealing himself from the shadows the instant Ghul sat up in bed. It was night outside and no doubt a day or two long after the "tragic" event at Arkham…and how long exactly had he been asleep?

"Well?" He asked, snapping somewhat out of impatience and frustration.

"The city heals." The man replied. "Those infected by the dust have been imprisoned until the vaccine will be released for public use and those who escaped from Arkham have been half captured.

"A vaccine?" This was no doubt Bruce's doing. "When will it be ready?"

"Two to three weeks."

Two to three weeks! There was no time for long drawn out plans—now it was impromptu and thinking on one's feet—and the first thing he had to do was find and destroy all samples of the vaccine…and whoever created them. Perhaps Bruce had formulated something himself, but in such little time he probably had help...Now, who would help him…

It was all just one problem after another. If the vaccine was spread then he'd have to advance the 'crazy' dust and that still meant he'd need Crane. Crane had been the only one he could find able to create the dust in a controlled form. Besides, who could a person trust in 'Gotham'…?

"Find out everything you can about the vaccines." Ghul ordered, throwing aside the covers and standing. His chest was sore…and, not to mention, every other part of his body. The pain was almost enough to keep him from walking to the window. "Figure out where Bruce is staying and get someone to track down the doctor. If he isn't already back at the asylum then he's somewhere hiding near or around Arkham. And be quick—time is not on our side!"

The man bowed before speeding from the room. There would be results in the morning; he knew that for sure, but only if there was no dallying. And if it wasn't for his current condition…

Damn Bruce…Damn him and his blasted morals for man kind…

-A-

Well, I'm off to work on something else now—I'm trying to update as much as I can so if you're one of my regular reviews, please don't get angry. Oh—and I know what Scarecrow's real past is…I made it up…And I feel so bad because I'll usually check up on character history so I can make it as plausible as I most possibly can.

Anyhow—I have a sore throat and I'm starting to doze off. Hope you liked this though!

_Until Again,_

_Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	2. Chapter 2

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

**Crane knows martial arts**. Cool…I didn't know that. But I thank **Baldrick** for telling me because that helps me a lot in this story. I suspected Crane would know how to fight somehow. I mean, I know a psychiatrist who takes jutjitsu because some of his patients have the tendency to lunge at him. But I don't know which Crane knows, so, since I take _taekwondo_, I will be most likely naming attacks from that style. I know my mom took _karate_ so I'll ask her about some of that, but I suppose most of you know what the simple stuff is like a round house kick and an axe kick…if not just ask or use your imagination. You're a smart bunch and I'd be honored to answer any questions…like now…

**Baldrick:** Yeah…I know what you mean about Crane not knowing, but I knew I had to sneak that in somehow to make my story work. I'm just assuming that Gordon or Rachel would have made a comment to the press about the crazie dust and how it caused people to attack each other. I think someone would have sent in something to the news about the destruction and all and I'm just going to pretend that Crane, being the brainiac that he is, would put it all together in the end. Thanks for asking though—now I know I have to work that better…hmmm…

DISCLAIMER: (shivers) Too creepy to own. No way am I going to pretend I own it….

CHAPTER TWO: Moving onward

He was going to starve to death. If he didn't get moving he would either die that way or get caught by someone nosing around. But maybe even then it would work out to his advantage…But he was almost grateful for the growing ache in his stomach. It woke him from the terrible memory of how this trouble all began, of how he had been up to normal, non-illegal actions before meeting Ghul.

He was young when he entered university and he found it relatively easy to fast track most of those long years of studying away. That was probably the only thing he could thank his father for—beating him enough times when he was younger to make sure he stayed as an honour student in school. But brains can get you into worse trouble than muscle. With muscle you just go around hitting things and getting hit back until your brain is dead and you really don't care whether you die or not in the next brawl. With brains you meet the powerful people who can either help you prosper if you lend them a hand or destroy you from the inside out, crushing you in their hand like clay. Speaking of which, that just about sums up his meeting with Ra's Al Ghul…

It was when he first became a psychiatrist and, after breaking up with his fiancée, took up a nighttime job at the university at the same time he first began working at Arkham that he met the man. To get over his grief he took up forensic sciences again and started teaching young men and woman no older than himself. When he didn't have classes to teach he would go to the labs and look over things, mainly poisons and all the remedies you had to take to counter out them. That drew him to old wives tale remedies and so he started up a hobby of looking over all the poisons in third world countries or those that were trapped in war. He was amazed by what he found, taking apart and putting back together what interested him.

The first night he met Ra's Al Ghul he was sitting at the counter peering into the end of a microscope, taking down notes as he worked. Everyone knew he hated to be bothered so no one really interrupted him when he was in one of his moods.

"Dr. Crane?"

A normal person in his mood would have asked one, or both, of two things. A) Who are you; or B) What do you want. He, on the other hand, could have cared less.

"The door is right behind you."

It was a large room and the man had entered on the far end. Crane, not even bothering to look up from the microscope was almost startled out of his wits when a hand rested on his shoulder with a heavy grip to draw away his attention. He hadn't even heard the man walking up behind him and for that he was quiet as he sat straight, slid on his glasses, and stared up at the tall men.

"Forgive me for drawing you away from your work, Dr. Crane, but I heard you had a fascination for poison."

Determined to show that man that he was not frightened by a bit of stealth, he shook his head and removed his glasses before staring through the microscope again. "Try Dr. Kril. He's the expert here in Gotham."

"I already confronted him and he failed."

Failed…This man knew how to talk to a doctor. Those who prided themselves in the power of the mind hated the word "failure" and any form of it used in any tense. But the man said it in such a way that descried a deep fury. Whatever this man wanted, he wanted it now.

"Then go to Dr. Sampson in Pheonix, Arizona." He muttered, finding something that caught his eye. Without leaning away from the microscope, he picked up his pen and scribbled another note down in his book. "Heaven only knows she's been in the news enough times to become famous."

"Tried."

"Dr. Murphy."

"Was a dead end."

"Datrix—"

"Told me to see you."

Now he was getting a migraine. This man just wouldn't take a message—He. Did. Not Care!

He sat up straight again and left his glasses on the table. "And what makes you think I can do any better? I just started my studies this year."

"Ah yes…" The man smiled and that annoyed Crane to no end. "Poison is something to marvel at, especially when made by nature. I read your article and that was really convinced me to see you. What you studied was a cousin to _this_…" And from his pocket he produced a small blue flower which the man handed to Crane before he knew he was taking it. It did look familiar, but not quite like anything he had seen before.

He took up his glasses one more time and studied the flower in his hand.

"What do you want me to do with this?" He said, almost in a distant voice. His mind was focusing mainly on the small flower he turned over on his palm. "Do you want me to figure out how to cure—"

"No." The man interrupted. Crane could hear the edge in the man's voice, a voice that was used to giving orders that were followed out without question or delay. "Anything but. I want you to make it into a powder—something that can be spread around without anyone noticing."

"Which would mean…it would have to be in a neutral form that activated when changed or…something along the lines of that." Without moving his head, his eyes shot upward toward the man. "And why exactly would you want to do that, Mr…"

"Décard." The man replied.

"Your real name."

That brought a small smile to the man's stiff face. Crane could tell when a man was lying—he was usually the one sent to court to determine whether or not a man was real insane enough to go to the asylum. And he hated it when the lawyer fought so hard that it didn't matter whether or not Crane knew the man was perfectly sane. Didn't matter though. He made sure those of his subjects that were once criminals suffered to the maximum—that they would _belong_ to the asylum—a true crazie.

"The skills of a doctor…" The man chuckled. "I suppose a real name to you would hurt no one—but speak about me only as Décard. My real name is Ra's Al Ghul…"

And that was how he had gotten to know Ghul.

He went to work immediately and created a powder that was harmless unless inhaled. If you drank it with water or ingested it you'd be as right as rain, but be wary if you suddenly choked on it. You know what they say—sometimes the water you drink too fast goes down the wrong way…

One thing led to another and before he knew what was happening he was introduced to some of the greatest crime-lords of Gotham city. And you know what else they say—everybody wants something for nothing. Just to keep his illegal work secret he had to do favors such as getting a boss' men out of prison and into the happy house just so that they wouldn't get beaten to a bloody pulp by their inmate. Well, they were worse off in his house than the bird's house because he could torture them without anyone stopping him. He hated criminals who did the petty stuff—reminded him of the guys that beat him on the way home or to school, and his father who would get occasionally drunk after a victory or defeat in court. If the man was still alive, Crane would have loved to just lock him up with his crazies, scare the hell out of him with the dust he was testing for Ghul. And curse the God that made Crane look like his father. Every time he looked in the mirror he saw the same black locks and sharp features of his face; saw a fiend that deserved worse than hell. Maybe that was why he agreed to help Ghul—help him hold the crime ridden city of Gotham pay.

Boy was he a fool to believe that.

Ghul wanted to kill the city and everyone in it.

He read the newspaper again—yep, the witnesses got it all write, and Gordon seemed to know a lot for a cop. Perhaps the Bat had something to do with revealing Ghul's true plan…

While he agreed that the guilty must pay, he didn't want the innocent to suffer…suffer like he had.

Back in the present, he shook the horrid memories from his mind and stood. It was night again—the third night with freedom and if he didn't get some water soon he was going to regret leaving Arkham. But _at least _it was night and that was good for three things—less people were out, it was easier to sneak around the cops, and his eyes were killing him. He learned to stay away from the window when his eyesight began to return. They would heal but in the meantime he'd have to be careful. Even the streetlamps outside irritated them.

And where on earth were his glasses?

Oh, yeah, back at Arkham with his wallet and everything the police needed to know about where he lived—not to mention his files which held the formula. But they would probably burn that. They had a so-called anti-dot—and why leave the ingredients to destruction lying around in a building full of raving lunatics and corrupt doctors? Maybe if it was someone stupid…

He knew he'd have no such luck.

Forcing himself to stand, he slipped off the straight jacket (untied by the men who freed him) and tore a long piece of cloth off his orange shirt beneath. This he tied around his forehead almost like a band, but slipped down to cover the upper-half of his eyes. This protected his eyes from what little light was outside so he could still see where he was going. It was the best he could do for now…

He slipped on the straight jacket once more and tried to think how he had even gotten off Arkham Island in the first place. He…remembered the pain after tearing off his mask and falling off the horse. Then, to hide from a group of his old crazies…he…what did he do?...He…Oh—he climbed up to the railway. Then what? Then…he…oh yes, he climbed up to the worker's catwalk and ran to the nearest station. He was surprised no one else thought to try that, but the dust was wearing off on him by then. Heaven only knows how many times he had been hit with the mild version of his dust—it was almost like taking a vaccine. All but one of those times had been by accident when he was working carefully (but not careful enough) with the powder he produced, the intended time being done cruelly by the Bat himself.

Damn freak…

Cold, he shivered slightly in the crazie coat and made his way outside the building. Then, after checking both ways, he slipped into the alleyways. In down town Gotham many of the alleyways connected like a maze, the sort of secret lane for criminals so they could run from the cops or deal their business in what little peace they could find. The last thing he wanted to do was run into a mob of thugs, but maybe they wouldn't bother him if they noticed the straight jacket and orange pants…

Wishful thinking. He should have known by now that.

There was a scream and the sound of a struggle following. He wanted to turn away and pretend he didn't hear it but two things stopped him: the police stopping at the far mouth of the alleyway and a part of him that felt guilty.

Ghul was a bastard, he was not.

Shaking his head and regretting his actions even before he had taken them, he ran down the end of the alleyway and turned the corner sharply. There was a woman, trying to run down the other end of the alleyway, but the arm around her waist kept her in place. With a hand around her mouth the most she could do was whimper and cried helplessly. The man who had caught her was none other than one of his crazies, a man who had been sane but wasn't in a right mind with the permanent dust Crane tested on him.

This was a crazie he didn't mind hurting.

"Hey!" He yelled and the man turned to look at him. The man's name was Fred and he had one of the worst tempers in Arkham. You could see it in his eyes now…raw fury…but also confusion, confusion at seeing Crane there.

That didn't stop him from lunging.

Crane didn't hesitate, he stood his ground and pulled his fist back, ramming it forward as hard as he could at the man's face. That was on thing he learned living in a hard community as a child—how to fight. He took up a little a bit of the martial arts when he was older after breaking enough bones doing a kick or punch wrong. It had come in handy—and not only from bullies in the streets. He lost count of how many times a patient lunged at him, taller than him and strong, hell-bent on biting, hitting, raping, or strangling Crane. He had had his fill of freaks attacking him out of the blue and therefore he had more than enough reasons to keep fit.

The man stumbled back from the attack, hands reaching up toward his broken nose. But Fred was a tough brute. He once slammed Crane's head into the wall after an outburst when they thought there had been great improvement in his actions. Arkham had once been such a lousy place for the safety of those who worked there—still was. Crane learned long ago that calling for help did you no good in the first ten minutes after being attacked.

Fred, further annoyed by Crane's reaction to the charge, stepped forward at a slower pace, watching Crane's hands which were resting calmly by his sides. Fred was a quick leaner—that was something to worry about.

Grinning, Fred reached out to grab Crane. Crane slapped the hand away, bringing the ball of his left foot up toward Fred's chin in a front kick. The man, head snapping back to the point that it almost broke, yelped and stumbled back into the side of a building. Now afraid (such a quick leaner indeed) he head tales and dashed down the alley the way Crane came—and Crane didn't stop him. There were the sounds of another struggle—this time from Fred fighting with the police he ran into.

Crane rolled his eyes, and turned—seeing the young lady again. She was mortified, back against the wall and eyes wide as she stared at Crane. "Please…" She moaned, and Crane realized that he was dressed like the crazies he dealt with.

"I'm…" He tried to think. "I'm not one of them. I'm—"

"Doctor Crane."

Ouch…the news probably posted a picture of his face somewhere.

He sighed. "Yes…I—"

"You were my aunt's doctor." She smiled somewhat…relieved…before she looked worried. "You're also…on the news…"

"I know." Was she going to call for the police? He hoped to God that she didn't.

"You know…" The young lady leaned off the wall, taking a small step forward. "My aunt did better because of you. She's really improved and she went home just a couple of months ago…"

Oh. It must have been a normal patient—not one of the criminals he dealt so much as of late. He took good care of the innocent ones, did his job to the best of his ability for them. He wasn't entirely a monster.

"I'm…glad to hear that…" He replied. It must have been the woman he transferred to a better asylum in New York. Not many people escaped Arkham…but somehow she got lucky.

The woman turned and started down the alley, but paused to look over her shoulder at Crane. "I owe you a lot, regardless of what the papers say. You saved my life and my aunt's so…do you want some help?"

This came to him as a surprise—a slap across the face, really. He gapped for a moment before realizing he should decline. "I can't—"

"But you should." She smiled again, gentle and soft in a truly caring way. She was one of those people who deserved to live, a blond haired, blued eyed girl who deserved to live in a safer city. "I don't really care what they say on the news. I owe you and you look starving…and why are you wearing that band?"

"…Light irritates them…How did you know who I was?"

She laughed as gently as she smiled. "Your face is very…sharp in features. It's not the easy, average Joe kind, so I'm betting that it isn't too easy for you to hide."

"You do know that, by helping me, you could get arrested for this."

"Ha! I think getting hurt by that man you scared away would have been worse. And what's the difference between the streets of Gotham and prison besides a bad reputation?"

The world as he knew it was ending.

Ouch—another random thought. Maybe not all of the dust had worn off yet…

"Come on." The girl called back to him, strolling down the rest of the alley. By time he had caught up to her she had stopped in her tracks, turning toward a door in the side of the building to their left. "This is the back entrance to the apartments." She explained. "I got some of my brother's clothes you could use after you clean up…unless you like your style as is."

He shook his head and quietly followed her inside. He had this growing feeling that he was being watched…

…Probably just another random thought…

-R-

He was right to trust his men. There were results in the morning and what news was brought to him only made him smile. He could possibly stop the vaccine from being handed out to the public, and, if not, it looked like Dr. Crane was still in town.

He turned the mask over in his hand and shook his head. "It's not like a man of his intelligence to make such mistakes. Must be ill in health…Where did you find it?'

"The abandoned apartment on 25th and 127th."

Ill in health indeed. Crane knew how to take care of himself—and if he had only gotten that far away from Arkham then he was either maimed or sick. Injured was more like it—after the brawl that happened on the island, he wouldn't be surprised if he broke a couple of limbs when leaving—and it was a wonder that he left at all.

It would have been much easier to get him from Arkham but now he had to hunt the man down. But how was he going to leave? Everyone knew his face and there was no way they were going to let him out of the city is he somehow made it to the edge of the city. Unless he had a lot of friends in high places, which Ghul doubted, seeing that he had been hiding fro a while now, Crane wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"He threw the mask aside and continued to stare out the window. It was dark out again and he would have liked to walk about, but his legs protested against all and any movement. Standing was the best he could do without falling.

With a sigh, he stared to the man to his right. "Find him before he starves to death. He couldn't have gotten far…not likely, anyhow."

"What if he's dead?"

"He'll be found before that, _yes_?" He snapped. Besides, Crane could take care of himself. "If not…then it's back to the drawing board and Gotham gets a good long vacation if we don't succeed with stopping that vaccine…And what news do you bring me about that?"

"We found out a Mr. Fox, employed by Wayne Enterprise, created it…but we don't know if we can stop production. It is believed that some of the vaccine is already beginning to be passed around…"

Great…Now it was a real race against time He didn't care if there were a few survivors of the doomsday ahead—not as long as Gotham was destroyed beyond repair. As long as it was out of the way he could move on to the next city, which would be Camden, the most dangerous city in America. Would be nice to see New York burn down sometime as well…

He sighed. "Find Crane and get me more than a name and rumors about the vaccine. I can't do much with that. But find what files you can about the vaccine; it might make it easier for Crane to make a stronger poison."

The man bowed and began to leave.

"Oh…" He turned. "Find out what you can about Bruce. I'd like to pay him a visit during my stay in Gotham."

Pay him a visit and burn him to a cinder. That man just didn't know how to stay down…

-A-

Hello people—looks like my laptop might work out after all. I'm typing this on it as I speak and I find writing this story eases my pain of having all my old saved documents utterly destroyed. Looks like Not Again might delay a little longer before I can stripe my computer down to find the lost data. I've done it before and, by God, I can do it again!

_Until Again,_

_Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	3. Chapter 3

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

You'll hear from Bruce sooner or later—can't have a story without a good guy running amuck to save people while a baddie and a baddie bordering onto the good side are free to roam around (well…one of them anyway). Hold tight. I actually wrote out the plot for this own (in the roughest of drafts) instead of picking an opening sentence and winging it. Well…most of this is winged, but I know what the beginning, middle, and end should be like so that has to count for something.

**IMPORTANT: Crane's mind…**Okay, I know I have him saying some OOC things in his mind but I read up in one of my dad's books (stuff on criminals and people who have suffered a trauma that may drive them to insanity for a while or permanently) and it says that people speak more freely in their minds, especially not like themselves if they're insane or slightly leaning toward it. Crane is still getting over the dust and he just took a turn of judgment in life, so that's why he says stuff like—"Yes sir-ee" in his mind when in reality he would speak in a more sophisticated voice

PS: This is dedicated to an _insane_ friend who idols Crane's _insane_ self during the movie: **Insaneiac the Maniac**

CHAPTER THREE: Broken rope

If felt good to be clean with warm soup inside of you. The blonde girl—who introduced herself as Susan—couldn't stop talking when they got into her snug little apartment, handing him clothes as he left to shower that fit him perfectly. A pair of jeans and a dark green turtle-neck. It was nice to finally get out of the cold…even if he still couldn't see properly at the moment.

"Where is your brother?"

"Moved away, but he forgot a few things when he left. A brilliant lawyer but a little absent-minded when it comes to living life…"

No argument there. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

Sleep overwhelming him; he slept the remainder of the night away on the couch in the living room. Susan didn't seem worried about him being there, almost grateful to have someone to talk to again. She was a merry spirit for Gotham and he wondered why she lived there, seeing that her living space suggested she could well-afford moving even if it was an apartment. It was hard to build a house or buy one here anyway. Gotham was too clustered with nobodies and power-hungry people.

Even though he had spent most of his time away from Arkham in pain, he woke at dawn. It seemed as though too many things were roaming in his mind for sleep to prevail, especially his worry of being found by either the cops or Ra's Al Ghul. The man had a knack for popping up when he was least expected (and wanted, for that matter), someone Crane wished he could shoot if the chance ever arrived. Who knew? Fate had an odd spin on luck…

What was he—stupid? He had been through the exact same argument with himself how many times? Luck didn't exist—and if it did, it was always bad for Crane. Just like wishes: they don't come true no matter how many fairy tales you've read to suck you into believing such happy lies. It was all…a conspiracy.

He really was losing his mind.

Oh, and, boys and girls, never tell yourself that as many times as he did. You'll only end up jinxing yourself to hell and back again.

Staring across the room at the other couch, he eyed his old clothes folded neatly in one pile. He was originally going to burn them but Susan didn't have a fireplace and he didn't want to risk going outside only to get caught. Now he was just going to keep the straight jacket as a souvenir, or…in case he did get caught he could use his own clothes again. Spare them the time of finding his size…

He tried to forget about it—even for an hour it would have been nice to relax his mind. Resting a hand on his sternum, he took a couple of slow deep breaths in an attempt to focus on just that. Breathing exercise did relieve stress no matter how many people said it was stupid—he knew; he went to medical school. You know, the place where they learn how to keep your health (in all forms: mental, physical and emotional) as close as they can at its peak…

Maybe he should have become a lawyer…

Never. God—he'd be exactly like his father then, mind you, his old man wanted him to follow in that direction anyway. Ah…the pressure of a parent's expectations—crippling beyond repair. It was created by the devil to maim and weaken every boy and girl born into the world and, believe it or not, it was delivering to the letter.

In the back of his mind he was waiting for the door to burst open by someone coming to arrest or kill him. The latter of the two would have been more preferable, and if hell was his fate then he wanted to get it to now rather than let the fear and dread grow. Yes, the weapon of mass destruction, the guest of honour, the name of the game—fear. And Crane swore, on his mother's grave (who was really dead, so his saying this was actually worth something), that if fear ever took the form of a living being, he would hunt it down and beat the tar out of it. Let it rest—then beat it again until it was too sore and wounded from broken pride to show its ugly face in his life from anytime between the present and the end of the world.

Fear dust…ha. He actually wished he had some on him, to be able to just surrender to the insanity, his weakness, and live the rest of his life locked up in the back of his mind. No suffering, no pain, no anguish—just death without actually dying because, quite frankly, that was exactly what insanity was. You died—the real you died, the person people used to talk with at church and trust enough to ask for favors from. You didn't think the same. You were just a ghost without a purpose inhabiting the body of someone long dead. _You_ weren't a person anymore…All those rights and laws that gave people freedom (which no one knew actually existed or not) no longer belonged to you. You were just a broken body stashed away in the closet where you couldn't cause grief to anyone, just…lost and forgotten.

That was why he feared insanity so much, feared being labeled as such even if he really wasn't. It wounded his pride to a great degree and it took away his freedom—forever. And he didn't want to surrender to such a lonely death, because he was quite sure, if he were caught, that being locked up in Arkham would drive him back to insanity without the aid of any drug or poison to get him in the mood. Crane would die and 'Scarecrow' would conquer at long last.

"Can't sleep?"

She startled him, not something easy to do for someone who was used to getting the living daylights beaten out of him. He hadn't heard her get up at all or stroll into the living-room toward the kitchen, dressed up in a suit.

"Work?"

"Huh?" She gazed at him as she opened the fridge door, taking out the orange juice and butter. "Oh—yeah. I have a case this afternoon and I have a lot I want to check up on before I have to go to court."

Oh…why did he keep running into lawyers? Wait….

"Is it about the Sampson case?"

She nodded. "Yep. Killed his wife and children—and I'm going to make sure he gets shipped off to prison."

"You should know that he'll be sent to the asylum."

"And what makes you say that?"

"No man in his right mind would kill his family. They aren't going to fight to get him out of prison—they're going to fight to put him in the loony-bin."

She frowned. She was young—still missed the picture in her mind's eye because she imagined it to be bigger than what it actually was. "And how do you know that? A man kills another man and it's seen as a crime—but if a man kills someone with even the slightest relation to him it's consider insanity. Why?"

"Why would a man raise a family just to kill it? A man kills another man out of jealousy and rage. Why would he kill something that's already his? Well, a man might his kill his wife and that can be seen as crime, but why his three kids with her who are only nine, five and three?"

… "I'll have to watch for that."

"It's something you learn in university, to look at the highlighted facts and then dig deeper. Some facts don't need to be torn apart and searched down to the bone."

And she was the persecutor?

"I'm tired…" She sighed, making toast and eating it quickly. "Life has been hell the last couple of days and I honestly don't want to go to court right now…"

At least Sampson had court—they locked Crane up in the asylum the instant they found him where the Bat had left him. No court for a crazy man…No need…

"Hungry?"

He sat up and shook his head. Even though he was starving the other day, in the asylum he barely ate anything at all—he didn't eat much anyway since the months he started working on the powder. The soup he had yesterday would last him until late into the afternoon, or even lunchtime at the least.

"Stay inside, okay?" Susan said, almost as though she was worrying the heck out of herself over a kid. She picked up a black satchel and headed toward the door. "I should be back around seven, so go ahead and make yourself at home. Just…don't do anything…crazy, okay?"

He laughed at the remark and nodded, standing to lock the door behind her. "I promise."

She smiled and then she was gone.

And he was ever-so grateful that God at least allowed him a little luck after all that he had been through. In the back of his mind he believed he didn't deserve her help. She was such a kindred spirit.

He sat at the table and leaned back in the chair, stroking his chin as he thought. He still had to leave—it wasn't safe for Susan if he stayed and he didn't want to make life hell for her after she saved him. He was safer in her home, but how long would be able to stay before the police began knocking on doors, or asking around if anyone had seen him? The GPD had never worked harder in history to track down a band of crazies and so far they were showing what they were worth. Even with Batman around they still had a job to do.

Minding that ninety-nine percent were corrupt to begin with—but that's besides the point.

He thought the morning away, always the deep thinker, and felt his smooth chin again. It was a wonder that he didn't have anything suggesting a beard, not even whiskers. Made him felt like a boy and he hated that feeling. Reminded of him of when he was a boy and he could do nothing but take each blow his father shot at him

Eyes getting sore from the light of the rising sun (and curse the fool who built a building with all the windows facing east and west so the sun could boil and blind the place every hour of the day), he closed the curtain and made way to the washroom to get a washcloth. For a person with sore eyes in the morning, the best way to relax them was to wet a cloth with hot water and rest it against the eyelids until the heavy pain faded. It worked for him.

He went to the washroom and wet a cloth, leaving the lights off. What peeked through the curtains was just enough to see, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to see. Over the sink was the mirror and in it he looked relatively the same. He was thinner, paler, and the skin around his eye was a little dark, red. Quite frankly, he looked really ill.

Licking his dry lips, he pressed the cloth over his eyes and waited at peace as the soreness of his eyes slowly crept away.

He ate a sandwich and cleaned up, bored out of his wits. He tried to watch the news but all they talked about were things he already knew, things he would much rather forget. So, when the room darkened after the sun slid behind a couple of clouds, he walked over to the curtain and opened it a foot in length to squint down at the busy street below (he could see close up without his glasses, but there was also the fact that his eyes were damaged). More people were out, walking around to finish their business without a care in the world. At least some people didn't have to hide away.

_God dammit!_

He cursed under his breath at the sight of the man. It was one of Ghul's lackeys, one of the body guards or whatever that followed him around (mind you, Ghul could do well on his own). And where there was one there was always bond to be another. And where was he?

Crane shut the curtain quickly and stepped away from the balcony window. What if someone saw him? Did they actually know he was in the area or were they just working their way around Gotham randomly? Maybe they weren't looking for him at all. Maybe Ghul was still in town and his men were looking for…something else.

The room lightened as the sun peeked out from the light cloud outside, bringing in dim light through the thin curtain. He squinted for a moment and tried to think. Should he just stay and hope they didn't see him? Or should he leave…That idea was out the window. Even with a band covering most of his eyes he'd be blinded by the light. Then what—everyone who watched the news would see him and it'd be all over. His best bet was to sit still for now…

And pray.

-_unknown_-

He strolled down the sidewalk as fast as he could, crossing the street to reach his companion. Stepping off to the side so the people could pass, he took the man by his arm and told him what he saw.

"You sure?"

He prided himself for watchful eyes—there was nothing he missed when he was searching for something. "He saw you and closed the curtain. Besides, his mask was found just a block away from here."

The larger man shrugged, looking across the street at another member of the League of Shadows. "Fine. I guess we should check it out anyway—leave nothing suspicious alone." And he gave a small wave to their other friend to cross over the street. "You take the fire exit and we'll come in through the front. Oh—and which apartment?"

He looked up. "The one directly above you, second floor."

"Okay. Tell Sal to park somewhere in the alleyway. Looks like Crane doesn't want to be found."

"What man would want to spend the rest of his life locked up in an asylum?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "Never mind—just get going."

Ghul was going to be happy today. Nothing but results were coming in for him to hear.

-C-

He hated playing Cat and Mouse, but what choice did he have?

Standing near the door, curiosity peaked, he gently pressed his left ear against the door and listened for anyone…And, after a while, there was the sound of faint footsteps nearing the door.

Cautious, he went to the kitchen and looked through the drawers until he found a knife. It was a good size, thin enough to hide up his sleeve and long in the blade for good distance. This he took with him as he closed to door and casually walked through the living room toward the hall. Taking a left, he entered Susan's room (sorry in the back of his head that he did) and closed the door halfway, peeking just around the edge as he waited.

Sure enough, someone pounded a fist hard against the front door and paused…before pounding again. After a third pause the knock became harder before quieting to silence.

They were after him alright. Maybe they would kill him, make sure he didn't say anything about Ghul…Would have been nice but there goes the wishful thinking again. He really had to learn it did him no good in the end—only led to trouble anyway.

He sighed and waited. His men weren't going to knock forever—

And there goes the door!

With a loud crash he heard the door slam inward against the kitchen wall. He didn't want to destroy Susan's apartment, but he really had no choice in the matter—he'd have to repay her if he ever survived.

Peeking around the door slightly, he saw two of Ghul's tall men enter. One was Asian while the other was African American, both looking around with shifty eyes. What a mean bunch…he hoped they wouldn't find him…but, again, wishes were for fools. He knew Ghul's men trained day and night for endurance, strength, skill, stamina—they were working machines…or that's what the legends say about the men of the League of Shadows. He can't remember where he heard it, but there was something about them staying awake for a couple days straight and then taking a day to rest, switching shifts that way when they were too busy for much rest. Could have been true…they looked miserable enough. Burned down London or something like that…

They moved around the kitchen, looking for clues or something, before moving into the living room. The apartment was rather large with a couple of good places to hide, but it wouldn't be long before they moved into down the hall to check the washroom, closet, and two bedrooms Susan had. They were going to find him sooner or later.

Shouldn't there be a fire exit?

He turned around and stared at the window on the other side of Susan's bed. Didn't they have something of a balcony with stairs leading to the ground and roof—a fire exit of sorts? It would be bright out, but the alleyway was shaded. Maybe he could just work his way through the maze back to the abandoned apartment he hid in a while back. Plenty of places to hid in there and maybe Ghul's men would leave Susan's apartment alone.

It was worth a shot.

He crept around the bed quietly and pulled back the curtain part way, finding the lock for the window and pulling the glass. Leaning out to peer down the fire escape he saw something rather disappointing for his situation—a man climbing the stairs up his way, muttering in another language about something. Crane only knew Latin and French aside from and English and he could have cared less about what the man was saying—

What concerned him was that he was now trapped. He should have left when he had the chance…And get caught blinded? No way. He was screwed either way…

Well, he was going to use the fire escape whether or not he ran into trouble. He just had to… 'clear the way'.

He slid the knife out from within his sleeve and held it by the handle. Pressing his back against the wall by the window, he waited, half hidden by the curtains, for the man as he climbed quietly into the room and stared at the opened door. He took a step forward and—

WHAM! Crane got him in the back of the head near the neck with the but-end of the knife handle. It was a knock-out hit, something he remembered learning in his younger years, and he still had it. Mind you, he could barely see, so it was something of an accomplishment on his part.

But perhaps he hit him a little too hard. The men in the living-room and hall must have heard him hit the floor because they came storming into the room before Crane could turn toward the window. The paused to stare at their companion and then at Crane, curious looks on their faces. Maybe they didn't expect him to put up a fight—he didn't care. He just had to get moving.

He began to walk forward and both men frowned, muscle tensing as they prepared to knock him unconscious. He knew he wasn't a perfect fighter, but he managed and was fairly well at what he did. There were a couple of neat tricks he knew.

"Catch."

He brought his left arm back and threw the dagger straight at them. Both men, in reaction, dodged aside and charged at once. Crane, on the other hand, skipped up onto the bed and kneed the nearest man in the face before jumping down and dashing into the hall. He didn't get very far, though, before he felt two arms circle around his waist and pull him back just as he entered the living-room. The most he could remember about getting out of that hold was slipping to the side and placing one of his legs behind that other the man. Then he grabbed him by the thighs and pulled forward, pushing the man's legs he had out from under him with the leg he had behind him. Both men fell to the ground, the upper half of Crane's body landing on the man. He was somewhat winded, but not as much as the man he landed on, elbowing him in the ribs before scrambling to his feet.

The other man, the one he somehow managed to knee in the face back in the room, was by the balcony window. Crane squinted at his silhouette against the bright corner and then bit back a cry as the man pulled the curtains open all the way. The light blinded him even when he covered his face, burning his eyes as though they were on fire.

Cheap shot. What a cheater.

He still had the knife in his hand, but that was knocked away. The man grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him up until he was barely touching the ground with his feet, throwing him back against the wall while still holding on to him. The man pulled him forward and slammed his back against the wall a second time, Crane helpless to whatever he did. He couldn't open his eyes from the pain and the brilliant light still streaming in through the balcony window, dizzy and sore from the man's heavy throws. It was going to knock him out soon.

A third slam did the trick as the green turtleneck he wore tore across the left shoulder. He felt a cold numbness wash over him as he was dropped to the ground, sighing as he finally passed out.

He hoped to God Ghul was in a good mood today.

-B-

Wayne Manor was utterly destroyed. He had the plans out and he had a team hired to rebuild the place to its old splendor, but that would take awhile. Alfred moved to a small apartment for the time being, coming to visit Bruce who insisted on staying in the cave. People believed he was staying elsewhere, but he wanted to fix up the place a bit, work on the tumbler which was getting the black paint scratched off the original army design. Besides, he stayed close to his weapons and resources as he worked on tracking the hitman with the Joker Card trademark. Then there was also the fact that he had been chasing down the escapees from Arkham Asylum (including Crane, wherever he was) and Ghul ever since the news in the paper. No bodies were found in the train wreak—no evidence that anyone had died. There were traces of blood but that could have been from a person who escaped the wreckage—in other words, Ghul was still alive and kicking. He was a stubborn man when it came to giving up and Bruce had no doubt that the man would try something again on Gotham. But maybe he'd give it a rest for a year or two…he hoped.

He read over the newspaper and tried to find out more about the vaccine going around. Fox came to him the other day after work to say that production was ahead in schedule. It turned out that Wayne Enterprise was more resourceful than other companies.

He rubbed his right shoulder gingerly, a dark blue and black bruise swelling over the joint. He caught a group of six escapees from the asylum off the island last night and swore he saw one of Ghul's men enter an abandoned building just off 25th and 127th. But the man was quick. If it was him, Bruce couldn't find him, but as long as Ghul's men hung around in Gotham he knew the man himself was still there. The question was: where was he hiding? Probably as Mr. Décard right out in plan sight, and that way Bruce couldn't touch him. The city was looking for a legendary, oriental fighter named Ra's Al Ghul—not a respectable gentleman under a French name. Even if Bruce eventually caught him, he couldn't turn him into the police without proof. Besides, the police didn't like him too much—saw him as a vigilante more than a hero. They'd much rather send him behind bars before Ra's Al Ghul.

And what was Ghul up to anyway? He probably had a plan already formulating in his mind—and a back-up plan secured if that one final. That was what was so dangerous about him—he was quick on his feet and hell bent on delivering the final blow. He'd much rather strangle Bruce to death than leave Gotham alone after 'Batman' taught him a little lesson.

Well, no time for dallying. It was one in the afternoon and he had a meeting to get to before switching into his alter ego self. He had more escapees to hunt down and Ghul to find, a hitman to figure out and an insane psychiatrist who somehow managed to escape the island.

His schedule was full up for the rest of the month.

-R-

He was awake when Crane was brought into the office of the small apartment he was renting for the time being, and he couldn't have been happier. Things were really up for him.

The man who carried him in his arms laid him down on the sofa in the corner of the room and stood beside his two companions before Ghul's desk. It came as a wonder to him why Crane was unconscious and that was the first question he pressed on his men.

"Well?" He asked, and they knew exactly what he was talking about. He nodded in Crane's direction and folded his hands on the desk. "What happened to him?"

The head of the three, an oriental man who had been a part of the League ever since he was in his teenaged years, a tall brute not many dared to spar against, stepped forward to explain. "He put up a fight and we had to take him down before he escaped, sir."

Put up a fight, eh? "And?"

"He's not too shabby." Sal added, the African American man. "And I honestly don't believe he wants to associate with you anymore."

Indeed, indeed…it would appear as such. He didn't know Crane knew how to fight, but, judging by how Markus, the short tanned Asian man of their bunch, kept rubbing the newly blossoming bruise on his chin, Crane new well enough to protect himself from petty thieves and crazed lunatics at the asylum. The man had a few surprises of his own.

At least he was there in one piece.

"How hard did you hit him?"

Sal paused. "Not too hard."

"Not too hard…" He gazed back at Crane and noted the tear in his shirt. Seeing that he was out of his asylum clothes, the doctor either had a second place to stay in Gotham or someone helping him out. It didn't matter though. What were they going to do—call the police and say that he was kidnapped? The police would only use that as a led and arrest Crane anyway. He was stuck.

"Get a pack of ice already." Ghul muttered to the other Asian man who was rubbing the back of his head. "Leave—and get someone to watch the door in case the doctor here tries to make a break for it."

They left as he had ordered and he tried to read again. He only succeeded in reading a bit before his attention was drawn back to Crane. He stood up and walked over to the unconscious man, looking over him in curiosity. He was pale and thin—more so than when Ghul had met him, and the skin around his eyes was dark and red, irritated somehow.

Leaning forward, he raised one of Crane's eyelids halfway and stared at the pink colour and glossed-over looked to the man's eye. There was no doubt that he was somehow blind. Not entirely, but for a while.

If this was the doing of his men, he'd kill them. The doctor couldn't do anything immediately if he was blind.

-A-

Yeah—lot's of problems for the baddie. Have to anyway. And what would you say—is Crane a villain or someone just stuck on the border—or something else?

I'm having fun with this. Review if you want because that would be nice, but I will continue writing regardless of what anyone says or does. I'm writing as many chapters as I can for hasty updates, but I think I'll make you wait a day or two for chapter four. If you're good I'll get chapter five in right after.

_TERM:_ **Broken rope**… Someone who is delayed or weakened by illness or injury and therefore falls victim to the will of the people around him or her. Ex: "The war veteran was a _broken rope_ during the Battle of Vimy Ridge after being attacked by the enemy, and was almost killed."

_Until Again,_

_Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	4. Chapter 4

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

Well—action is kicking up. I like making these long…Find I have so much to say in this story…

CHAPTER FOUR: Connecting thoughts

When he first woke he didn't move or try to open his eyes—or do anything that would allow his captors to know he was awake. He just listened…listened and tried to think before moving and doing something so utterly stupid that it landed him in any further trouble. Well…it wasn't as though his current situation could get any better...

There was little to hear; someone writing hastily on a piece of paper off to his left, not close…but not far…He was cold and he was lying on something soft...something like a couch, perhaps.

He considered lying there for a while longer, just to wait and see if he'd be left alone, but he honestly doubted anyone would be stupid enough to leave him unsupervised. This was, after all, the League of Shadows he was dealing with.

It was no use playing dead. Someone was going to stick around whether he was unconscious or not so he'd might as well get the over and done with. Besides, Ghul could get impatient at times…

-R-

When the man stirred he looked up from his files, watching as Dr. Jonathan Crane sat up and turned to fix his eyes on Ghul. Then he shot him a look, a brief insight to his hatred for the man. And what a miserable look it was. Something with murderous intent...

He was gangly—so thin and pale one could imagine him easily as a resident at the local asylum, and when a lock of black hair fell over his right eye he didn't move to brush it aside. Those vengeful eyes stayed focused on Ghul, narrow and menacing—although he supposed they were narrow more from the irritation of light in the room rather than any actual maliciousness.

Something tugged at the corner of Ghul's lip and he smiled. Hate was a powerful weapon—if you couldn't hate your opponent you had no hopes of ever defeating them. Just as compassion was required to move the heart, hatred was needed to steady the hand.

Odium was a natural expression on Crane's face; made that little report of his fight against Ghul's men all the more plausible. A man could do great things if he was fuelled by the right emotion and rage was the perfect source.

To cut Crane a little slack, he turned his chair and reached back for the curtain rope. It was half closed already and shutting it all the way with one pull darkened the room considerable. Maybe the shade would calm the man down.

Crane averted his gaze from Ghul and focused on the coffee table in front of him instead. Elbows on his knees, the doctor leaned forward and sighed as Ghul stood, making his way to sit on the sofa across from him. He wouldn't look up at Ghul, either because he was trying to ignore him or he was too lost in thought to care much. It upset Ghul to a small degree. There was something to be seen in the doctor's abhorrence, a kind of loathing he'd never seen in any of his other men. It was born from something different, he supposed, than vengeance against a world corrupt beyond repair.

"Good afternoon, Crane…how are you feeling?"

Crane paused and then, shakily… "Ra's…"

It sounded…well, it sounded as though Crane was struggling to say his name, seeing that he couldn't finish it—almost as though he were in pain. It was masked quite nicely behind his rage, the kind that Ghul was curious to see again. And, yes, he could sense the fear. Fear in the form of confusion, for man always fears what he cannot understand. Crane didn't know why Ghul wanted him—or, at least, he knew the purpose behind Ghul\s plans but didn't want to believe them.

"Tell me…" he offered the man a small smile, watching as Crane shifted his eyes up slowly to stare at him, "what happened to your eyes?"

Said eyes narrowed dangerously and something akin to a snarl crossed Crane's face for the briefest of moments. "I was shot in the face with a taser gun by the DA. Not the most pleasant impression, certainly, but you know what they say: _pain_ is a natural sensation of life."

"So it would appear…" Ghul eyed the man over again—making Crane shift uncomfortably. Crane was accustomed to examining people and evaluating them—not the other way around. "How exactly did you escape Arkham?"

"Anyway a sane man would…" Crane lifted his head even more; the hatred remained. The fear still lingered—and yes, the statement. Obviously Crane didn't want to believe he was mentally ill like all the other crazies from Arkham. "I took the train."

Amused by his reply, Ghul smiled again. Either the good really had lost his mind or he was trying to be sarcastic.

He leaned back causally and crossed his legs as he observed the man with mild fascination. "How did you manage to accomplish that if the train was missing from the station at the time of your premature release?"

"The only other way a man could."

"Please, humour me, Dr. Crane"

Crane took a quick glance to his left, focusing on the door. There was a strange glint behind his eyes. It reminded Ghul of the visits he made when Crane was first producing the poison for the League, a look that meant he had something working out in his mind. Seeing that his attention was drawn toward the door, his best guess was that Crane wanted nothing more than to leave—or escape, rather, since Crane wasn't necessarily there by his free will.

"I took the worker's catwalk. It's built just above the rail."

…Perhaps he wasn't _quite_ as insane as Ghul thought he would be. Crane could be a surprising character when he put his mind to it.

"And then what?" Ghul asked, "You hid?"

"Hid…" the rage crossed behind his eyes again and they locked with Ghul's, "What else did you think I would do?"

"Seeing that you have a peculiar fondness with conflict, I thought you would've fought back—work your way out of town."

Crane looked somewhat surprised. "Perhaps, but a blind man can't go far without some form of aid or another. Besides, Mr. Ra's Al _Ghul_, in life you can really only be one of two things—a quick coward or a brave retard. Which are you?"

This wasn't where he wanted the conversation to go. He wanted to push a few of Crane's buttons, true, but Ghul was a man of control.

"Retard?" He inquired. "That's an interesting choice of words..."

"Not even a fool would walk into danger for no apparent reason or if they knew they were going to fail anyway."

"So you're saying that my plans for the city are 'retarded'?"

Crane considered this. "I was talking about you, but you can read into it that way I suppose so. I bet you didn't plan on running into a lunatic dressed as a bat. He showed you though, didn't he?"

Again, another salt of failure added to the wound. Bruce was going to die one of these days—and it wasn't going to be from old age.

"You really have lost your mind."

Crane growled, "Thanks to you."

"You could have denied—"

"I _did_!" Crane snapped. Now they were getting somewhere—Ghul was back in control again. "Yes your poison powder fascinated me, but how many times had I told you I was going to give up—how many times had I tried to shake you off when you first came to meet me? Have you ever been in an asylum, Ghul...?"

He waited… "Yes."

"As a _patient_?"

Ghul frowned, "So you spent a little time in the place of your clients—I thought you enjoyed working at Arkham."

"I enjoyed _working_ there—not being treated for a non-existent illness. I didn't enjoy _living_ there. Have you ever experience reoccurring visions? Of course—you gave me that plant, so one could only wonder how you tested it on your own. Did those visions go away with a little rest or did they linger for days on end?"

The flower he gave to Crane was weaker than the poison he created—it didn't last long but the effects were pretty much the same. The poison showed you something you thought you could bury inside yourself. Ghul hadn't been what Crane had been through but he _had_ been in situations that could have been graded at the same level as his torment of insanity.

Ah, and so there it was. Crane`s fear.

Insanity.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Crane paused then…a direct hit to the chest. He didn't give an answer.

"You're going to advance your drug."

Crane shook his head slowly… "It's rude to ignore a question by changing the subject…"

"Very well…" he smiled inwardly, "Those visions are with me every day of my life. You can't destroy fear, Dr. Crane—its stays with you until the end of your days. That's what fear is— unconquerable; uncontrollable. You, yourself, fear insanity—and though I see things that would make most men weep, I`ve never been hindered by distress or worry."

Crane gave a small laugh, something Ghul didn't expect. "Men are plagued by fear—_animals_ are plagued by fear—and that is what makes them mortal."

Ghul was mortal a man, unless you knew the legends… "You know the rumours." He said. "If I am, indeed, mortal, then fear is my gift from God. But tell me, why can't a man be immortal without fear?"

"Because only lesser beings lack the ability to fear."

The smile faded, "And what of you, Crane? Do you _enjoy_ fear—inflicting it, or even…perhaps, feeling it? Do you love the screams, the agony and the torment—the race of your heart and shortness of breath? Does it amaze you? Does it amuse you? Is it your weapon, your calling card—your life's work? It _is_ true, without denial, that those lesser than man lack the ability to fear, but it is not also just to say that those worse than man _love_ to fear…love the power it possesses?"

The never faltering anger flared in Crane's eyes. He hit something hard—the truth. He called Crane a monster—told him everything about himself and, at the same time, showed how him how malicious he could be. Crane wasn't a man of war, a man of tyranny or deceit, but what he felt fell along the lines of all that and worse.

"Then…I guess you're both less and worse than man." Crane said; voice calm and unwavering, like he was talking to a patient, "And…how does that make you feel?"

"Man is beneath what man was first set out to be—"

"Uh-uh." Crane interrupted, shaking his head slightly, "Remember…don't be rude…You just described yourself as well because, quite frankly, I didn't try to kill everyone in the city with fear itself."

"Ah—but you created the powder."

Crane laughed again, briefly. "Man made fire—but that doesn't stop it from burning flesh, now does it?"

"So then—what am I? A monster?"

He nodded, "Exactly."

-C-

He didn't give Ghul the chance to make another statement. Words held power—always had and always would, and Crane wasn't about to debate for hours on end with the man. They were both a little right; a little wrong. Any outsider to their conversation would be able to see that.

There was a reason he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and all he had to do was endure Ghul's speech until the man relaxed his guard. Ra's Al Ghul, without a doubt, was a powerful man and it was easily imaginable that any word he said could bring fear to the hearts of many without his even trying. He was a legend in the orient, recorded in a few tales in other countries—always portrayed as man's judge, jury and executioner. Like a spawn of death eternal, he swept over ruined cities and did with them what he saw just.

His plan was going to fail.

Crane's, that is…but it was worth a shot anyway. Just to show that he would go as far as he most possibly could to escape from helping Ghul…

Hands near the coffee table; he slipped them underneath and flipped the furniture in Ghul's direction. It fell on the man's lap and smacked him in the nose, landing sideways with its legs aimed at Crane. Ghul had only paused a moment in the short outburst and moved his hands to push the table off himself, but Crane knew all too well that that wasn't going to be enough. Instead of making a break for the door, he jumped to his feet and lunged at Ghul just as he pushed the table aside, hands closing around his throat

The force of the attack caused the couch to fall backward, both men rolling away as Ghul tried to pry Crane's hands free. Crane wasn't prepared to let go, not yet knowing what he would do next. He knew how to choke a man—knew the anatomy of the human body—but right now he was too anxious to act. Killing a man was one thing—killing a legendary fighter was another matter altogether.

He should really stop jinxing himself.

Ghul, caught off guard, made a choking noise before grabbing Crane's right wrist with both hands. Crane barely had time to react before pressure was applied, bending his hand back with a sharp crack. In reaction he gave a swift punch to the man's face with his other hand and released small cry of pain. It was a sucker punch and Ghul was used to taking a hit—in short, it did nothing for Crane and soon he was on his back, Ghul pinning him to the ground by his shoulders

"If you want a fight, I can give you one," Ghul warned. The amusement, however, wasn't lost in his voice, "but I'll give you a little advice—you'll never win."

"Depends on what I'm fighting with," he spat in retaliation.

Ghul said nothing to that. Instead, he looked to the door and called out to his men in one of his foreign languages. Looking back down at Crane, he nodded to some internal thought and said, "Seeing that you have so much energy, let's put it to good use."

The man pushed himself swiftly onto his feet and stepped aside as two of his brutes swooped in. They took a quick glance at the furniture before focusing their attention on Ghul. Standing at attention, they waited for his orders.

Crane stood on his own, right hand shaky from the attack. It didn't look broken—aside from the fact that he couldn't move it and the pink patch circling his wrist was already darkening into a bruise. He'd have to do something with it soon before it worsened.

Ghul gave Crane one last look…eyes fixed on the broken wrist. Then he frowned in realization, "You must forgive me; I meant to break the left."

"Then let's let bygones be bygones," Crane muttered in sarcasm, "No worries, I'm ambidextrous..."

He was originally left-handed, but after enough kids called him the devil father, he kicked into gear and went over to the ever-popular dextral trend of society. And if it wasn't "Devil" in the name calling then it was "Scarecrow". Made sense anyway…he turned out to be one when he was older…

Ghul ignored the comment and turned back to his men, saying something brief in their language before returning to his desk. One of the brutes took Crane by his left arm and led him to the door, the second man following close behind. In hand to hand combat he knew he would lose every time against Ra's Al Ghul. But he had his methods…he knew many ways to get back at the man…

-B-

The meeting was as boring as hell.

How could anyone sit straight that long through a three hour report? Fox could have done better, but the man was newly hired, young and still inexperienced. He believed in chances. The kid had his head in the right place—believed in what was right for the people and tried his best to please. Or maybe it was just Bruce…He had, after all, been traveling for so long just to learn the true meaning of fighting for justice (and he found it alright!).

Yeah…it was just him.

He stood on the edge of the building, staring down at the glowing street below. Flashing signs, street lights, people bustling about in the cool evening air—looked pretty right from up where he was. Too bad, underneath it all, it was really just a false illusion. Carmine Falcone might have been one of the toughest Crime lords of Gotham, but he was far from the only one. There were still a few "problems" left from the last near-doomsday event for Gotham (which included the escapee) and new crooks were testing the justice system again.

He held the card in his hand, flipping to over to see the Joker. What sort of symbol was this? A Jester—to impose fear? It was really stretching the usual unwritten code of criminals but if a man could make it work then he made it work. After all, who in the world would have expected to see a guy parading around dressed as a bat, beating the tar out of anyone who deserved it? Anything could happen.

And where to start? All he knew was that the guy had no real method. He didn't care who he was shooting or why they needed to be killed; he just called his boys together and took the victim out in one night. And he was good at what he did—Bruce couldn't find much proof aside from the calling-card, and each one was without fingerprints. The guy knew how to hide his tracks…but people tended to get lazy, forget things behind…It wouldn't take long before the guy messed up.

And Bruce would be there to pick up the pieces.

Right now he was following someone. Believe it or not, but he didn't exactly feel like dropping out into a large crowd of people just to grab an easy catch unless he seriously had to. It was two of the escapees from the asylum, dressed up in different clothes and trying to look inconspicuous to the public eye. Fools. It wasn't the public they should worry about.

Both were rapists, no doubt out for some of their so-called fun. While he was following them, they were following a young lady in her teens. Long blond hair pinned up, blue eyes, a nice suit and a weary look to her face—a lawyer probably. She was lucky someone was watching over her.

No doubt upset from work or something along the lines of that, she pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket and turned into an alleyway. Bruce really hated it how some of the buildings were made—back doors leading out into the alley for fire safety. Thing was—it was only ever used as a back door leading into the building. It was always the perfect place for someone to get grabbed…

High-heeled shoes tapping against the concrete ground, she made her way down the alley toward the door. Behind her the men turned the corner—looking around quickly before quietly running to catch up to her. Just as they reached her she turned toward the door, catching sight of them in the corner of her eyes. She barely had time to scream before a large hand covered her mouth and a tall man pressed her body up against the wall with his own. But around that same time Bruce descended upon the three and took on his personality as the Bat—

—beat them until they can't walk right for the rest of the month.

He gave a quick hit to the back of the guy standing behind his partner, just to get him out of the way while he took on the one having fun. He grabbed the second guy by the back of his collar and yanked him away from the woman so hard that he heard the guy choke. The man fell back to ground and a hand automatically wrapped around his throat. Bruce forced him back to his feet and stood him up before thrusting an upper-cut to his jaw. When the man stumbled into the wall, scared and trying to shudder away from Batman, Bruce simply grabbed him by the face, pulled his head forward and then slammed it back into the brick.

One down…

The other man was just beginning to get up onto his hands and knees when Bruce turned to face him. With a sharp kick to the gut the man keeled over and gasped in pained, face wide open to the next kick Bruce delivered. Then it was lights-out like his partner…

"Whoa…" the woman gasped softly, looking down at the second guy, "That's the second night in a row I was saved by a crazy—_sorry_!" She covered her mouth and stared at Bruce with wide eyes. "Not that you're a crazy from the asylum. It's just the talk and all and…Thank you…I hope I didn't offend you."

"No…" actually, sometimes he thought the exact same thing, "but you said there was another _crazy_…"

_Crazy_ was the term the public used for the residents at Arkham Asylum. He highly doubted that someone from there would save her but maybe they did...

"Oh, well...thanks…again."

She averted her gaze and put her keys into the door lock, rushing inside before he could ask her again. He followed quietly behind. The men outside weren't going to wake any time soon and he wouldn't take long…

She didn't notice him even as she finished climbing the apartment stairs and stopped before her door. She was more focused on the door.

It was slightly open, the lock still attached to the frame. Must have taken a bulldozer to knock it open like that or someone who worked out every hour of the day.

She ran inside and Bruce walked toward the door, staying just outside her apartment. She threw her satchel onto the table and began looking around, "Crane!"

_Crane?_ Dr. Crane?

That's when he entered.

"Why would Dr. Crane be in your apartment?" he asked, startling the hell out of her when she spun around to meet him face to face, "why didn't you call the police?"

She tried to say something…but all she could do was move her mouth to silent words. Then, sighing, she walked over to the torn curtains and pulled them shut, taking a seat on her sofa. "Because…because I don't think he should go back to the asylum…"

"It's not your right to decide."

"And it isn't yours either." Fierce blue eyes locked with his and narrowed. "The police can only judge him from what you've somehow told them. Why should anyone trust a man dressed up as a bat, fighting crime for what—justice? Seems a little odd and a little too good to be true if you ask me."

"And how did he save you?"

"Another crazy was out in the alley last night. He stopped him from raping me."

Little lady didn't have much luck.

"How do you know he didn't only save you so you'd believe he was good?"

"How do I know you didn't only save me so I'd believe_ you_ were good?"

"He committed a crime—"

"And being a vigilante is with the law, right?" She shook her head and looked away, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of her. "I've known him for a few years. He was my aunt's psychiatrist and he was the only one who made progress with her—cared enough to actually get her out of the asylum. And he didn't want to accept my help—didn't want me getting into trouble."

"He isn't good—"

"And you know that because _you_ can read minds." She rolled her eyes, staring at him again from where he at the other end of the living-room. "Fine—call the cops for the men you caught and then tell them to arrest me as well, but don't tell me to believe something I know isn't right."

"Half those men in his asylum were there because of his dust."

She gave a small laugh. "Yeah, I know. Funny how they were only the criminals—just like you. He went behind the law to punish bad people—and look!" she gave another small laugh, waving a hand in his direction. "There's the Batman sneaking around in the background punishing the same bad people. What a coincidence…"

He hesitated…he never actually thought of it that way. "But Crane…what he did jeopardized the lives of innocent people."

"And your midnight drive down the highway and through the city was _so _safe."

…Yes, she was a lawyer.

"You should get your door fixed." He said before she began again—but when she looked away he breezed from the room into the kitchen and out into the hall before she could realize he was gone.

What she said…was making him double-guess himself. Did Crane really deserve to be locked up in Arkham again? …Well, if he was still insane then Bruce really had no choice there, but after hearing that he saved that woman (and outing up with her chattering) and listening to her argument and Crane's morals…he wasn't so sure the man would remain on his hunting list for much longer.

What to think about Crane…

-A-

Thanks for all the reviews guys. If this chapter sounded pretty awful it's probably because I'm looking at the clock and it says…oh, yay—four fifty-six a.m. I hope you like what's happening and you get to see some more action soon. I just had to put Crane trying to strangle Ghul because that's probably what I would have done in his situation. And then I had to put Ghul breaking Crane's wrist because he is a better fighter and I had to make the little round fair. Sorry, Crane fans…and I know which ones of you are because I've been receiving threats in the mail should anything happen to him. It's just a story…repeat after me—it's just a story.

See you next time.

_Until Again,_

_Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	5. Chapter 5

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

So far so good. I'm glad I'm taking a vacation from my usual stories until I can find the lost data—and believe me when I say it can be done! I just have to get my dad to help me…so if you're one of my old reviewers, just to let you know, I'm not slacking off. I'm just waiting until I'm a hundred percent sure I can't get those lost files back. You have no idea how long it took me to write all that I did…Why was I so stupid? I should have posted them ASAP…

Oh—and before I forget—**credit goes to Insaneiac the Maniac** for a few of his ideas I put in the last chapter during the Crane and Ghul talk. Big round of applause people!

And one last thing—I'm leaving for vacation next week, but I should get back to writing the week after. But I think I still have time for another chapter or so before I leave…depends…

CHAPTER FIVE: Morals

Maybe if the walls weren't white he'd feel more comfortable in the room, but it was probably deliberate. Ghul was renting a house of sorts and Crane was taken three doors down the hall to where he was now. It was a small room…a bed in one corner and a desk on the other side, files and a small amount of technological supplies staked up on top of it. Along with that were his things that the asylum confiscated when he was locked up. Glasses, wallet…all but his old clothes and cell phone, but Ghul wouldn't want him calling anyone up anyhow…

"I can't replicate the toxin with just this." He said to the men after they pushed him inside. "Even Ghul should know that."

The Asian man gave a second glance at the desk before turning to Crane, dialect heavy and almost non-understandable. "The rest of your supplies are somewhere else—and you will be taken there tonight. This is where you will stay for now."

Oh yay…What could he say? Ghul had his connections—it was all part of being powerful. There was no doubt he could get a lab from someone…somewhere. But there weren't many in Gotham.

Why was he worrying about that? He had to escape…

And how was he going to do that? It wasn't like Susan would have called down the police about Crane after seeing the mess left in her apartment. No one knew where he was and, quite frankly, he didn't want anyone to know. He wanted to leave on his own…start over again somewhere without any connections to the horrible mistake of almost killing everyone in Gotham. It was going to be hard, and he knew he didn't deserve the chance, but anything was better than helping Ghul again.

Walking over to the desk, he took up his glasses and fit them onto his face. It felt good to see properly again…to a degree. His eyes were still sore and the burst of light back in Susan's apartment only aided to make matters worse. But…it was an improvement. They would heal in time. He was just lucky he wasn't permanently blind.

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the rest of his thing son the desk, and stared at the far wall. Deep in thought he began to wonder what he had to do. First off—there really was no escaping from Ghul. The man had tighter security than the Queen of England had for her crown jewels, and his men could kill Crane with a quick hit to the chest or head. Trying to slip off wasn't going to work unless he had some sort of weapon—and, of course, it would be impossible to get his hands on one. The only real weapon he had was his dust and that would be monitored heavily by Ghul and his men every hour of the day.

Ghul had a weakness…he just didn't like people letting on to it…

Everyone had a weakness—mortal or not.

…But what?

The time passed and he lost count of how many hours he had been in the room. His watch, which he later went to replace on his wrist, was broken and there was no clock with which to see the time. It could have been broken from when Ghul's men brought his things in, and that would explain why he had to readjust his glasses after figuring out they were partly crooked. Showed how gentle their bunch was…

It seemed like hours, the sky darkening outside the small high window on the far wall, before Ghul's men returned for him. And they were as gentle with him as they were with his things. The moment he stood a fist connected with the side of his face and he was out like a light before he could register the feeling of pain.

Well…this was one fine way to keep him in line.

_-later-_

The pain came later as he woke, head throbbing, sitting up straighter in the chair. It was bright and that kept him from opening his eyes all the way, though he did try to squint a bit for a visual of his new environment. More white…a lab.

He sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward a bit, right arm aching. He touched it gingerly with his left hand, just then realizing now that it was wrapped up with a wood brace held on the top and bottom of his arm, stretching from just below his elbow to his palm. It was sore but he could manage. It wasn't his first time breaking a body part, and he wasn't exactly going to let Ghul know that he'd hurt him easily.

The second thing he noticed, just as the lights shut off and turned back on at half-dim, that he wasn't alone. Ghul was there of course, standing on the right side of his chair, In front of him was a counter—just about everything he needed to begin right where he needed it. And, opening his burning eyes further, he noticed he was in a lab—a basement lab with white painted concrete walls and no windows. There were a few doors, two on the far right wall that led to washrooms for the students that would have used, and two doors on the other wall which led to the hallway. The metal curtains (the type you see at shopping malls or schools) were pulled down over the far wall which, from halfway up to the ceiling, was glass for people to observe the classes with. That was one thing in medical school he remembered—the university's (and the other students') goal was to flunk you. They only wanted the best and that meant the teachers wouldn't tell you about a few things on the tests and fellow students would slip water into your experiments secretly when you were gone from the lab or turned away. That's why you joined a fraternity—other members of the group kept an extra eye out for your experiment and that discouraged a lot of the competitors from screwing you up.

Made he should have given up in medical school. It only brought him from bad to worse anyway, and maybe he would have made a better lawyer…

That was his father speaking.

"You don't stay out-cold for long." Ghul commented, Crane just noticing the papers in the man's hands. He was reading them in a folder before tossing them down onto the desk in front of Crane. "This is all we could find so far at the asylum—the only thing that slipped from the other files destroyed. All that's left relating to your old information would be what they have at Wayne Enterprisers."

"They're making the vaccine? Who's heading the research?"

"Mr. Lucas Fox."

…Oh Boy. Crane had met Fox before on numerous occasions and all he had to say about the man was that he was brilliant. If anyone could create a vaccine it was him—and he'd probably create something that couldn't be outdone. So, in the most sense he could make from everything, his efforts would be in vain to replicate the toxin—he'd need to advance it off what Fox had.

"I need his files—all his work." Crane said bluntly, keeping to business and fighting the urge to hit the man again. "Get me that, otherwise whatever I create won't do a damn-well thing."

It was like the cold—you couldn't cure it because it had many different viruses. You got one and your body grew immune to it. The only way to get sick again was to catch another type of the virus—find out what the immune system recognized and then changed it to slip right past it.

Ghul slipped his hands into his suit pocket and nodded. "You will receive all the data you need soon, but for now, work with what you have."

"And how are you going to get all that data?"

"How else?"

How else indeed…

Ghul left him then, walking to the door and closing it behind him with a loud click. Another click followed, this time from the lock, and he was left to do his job.

Well, no use creating suspicion.

He picked up the files and began reading what little information Ghul was able to obtain. It was in his writing, a smidgen of the original formula from the flower. It was similar to many sedatives, but it was unique in far too many places to be recreated with ease. There were a few things Crane remembered in the back of his head (and this time he would remind himself to memorize everything), but not enough to get him anywhere any time soon. It was like…trying to recall a movie. You remembered all the interesting, exciting parts, but you didn't exactly memorize every line—and that was his problem. He had to figure out one thing before the next and so far all he remembered were the bigger important parts…

-B-

"How's it going?"

Lucas, leaning against his desk, looked up from the reports and just noticed Bruce in the doorway. With a smile he replaced the folder onto its right pile and sighed in relief. "Give it a week and we'll have the whole city safe from the toxins in the water."

"What if it's replicated?"

Lucas gave a small laugh and shook his head. "Even if that happened, it wouldn't do any harm. It would be nothing worse than the air itself."

Well, the air itself was pretty harmful on its own depending on where in the world, but he knew what Lucas was talking about. He was just…worried. Both minds behind the original terror were still at large and he had no idea where to start looking. His first idea was to look around that woman's block, see if he could spot any of Ghul's man. Some of the m he knew by face from training with them, but there were other ways to tell if someone worked for the league. Posture, look in their eyes, sometimes a tattoo of their own or a symbol which represented their traits—and don't forget the manners. He couldn't remember ever seeing one of the ever smile like it was against the law they were trying to uphold.

"You look troubled." Lucas slipped his coat off the back of his chair and head for the door. "Something wrong?"

"Just…a test of morals, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, I do." After all, once Lucas figure out about Bruce's night-job, the young man explained to him what he could about his decisions. That ranged from his parents' death up to refusing to kill the man Ghul wanted him to execute, his little conflict between the justice which was running now and Ghul's ideas. His own morals…were somewhere in between the two. "And what test is this?"

"Judgment."

"Care to give me…an example of what seems to have your morals going?"

Bruce shrugged, walking alongside the man as they left his office. It was seven p.m. and he had to suit up for another run around the city. Progress was slow but at least almost all the escapees were returned to the asylum. "You know…um…well—you know when I…was on the news?"

Lucas gave another small laugh, stepping into the elevator with Bruce not too far behind. "I seem to recall seeing you on the news a couple of times. Now, which event are you talking about an in which ego?"

Bruce pressed the down-button. "The highway incident as my _other_ ego…If I had killed someone, what kind of person would I be?"

"I don't see…you as a bad person. Unless you planning on killing someone, I can't exactly see you as some deranged maniac. Why?"

Bruce rubbed his eyes, a headache forming as he tried to think straight. Ever since he talked to that woman his conscience had been eating away at his heart for the entire day. "I was trying to save the city from Ghul and in doing so…I used my own methods, even though I knew how dangerous they were. If I had killed someone…would that make me better than any other deranged maniac who wanted to punish the guilty with fear and pain?"

"You're heart is in the right place—always was. You did what you did because you believed it was right and it was going to help the innocent people you wanted to protect. Your…_method_ of taking out the bad boys is a little violent—but hey; you're fighting crime the way you know how. Everyone has their own strengths, and yours just happens to be in your muscles…Why do you ask?"

"…I'm trying to figure out if I should make an arrest or not."

The elevator jolted to a halt and Bruce gave a brief goodbye before running out the opening doors. He knew Lucas might ask about the question later, but for now he just had to think on his own. He still had so much work to do and…he really needed to schedule in a decent sleeping time. He was awake as the Bat and then semi-awake at work. He was lucky the company was really working in Fox's hands (and thank God the ma knew what he did at night) so he didn't have to panic over planning out every little plan of the company. Maybe that's why his father became a doctor…

-A-

This one was shorter because I didn't want to give off too much in this chapter. The next chapter should be as long as the next, but I actually have some other things to work on and check over. My two choices were to either submit this so you guys had something to read and think about, or slowly write this up and have you wait forever for an update. But don't worry. I should be able to get the next chapter in before the nineteenth (the day I leave at five a.m….groan…), so cross your fingers if you like the story.

_Until Again,_

_Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	6. Chapter 6

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

Well. Looks like August is coming up fast and so is my vacation. I'll chat later after I figure out what I'm going to write…

CHAPTER SIX: Just wondering…

The labs of Wayne Enterprise were secured in the basement levels. The only way to get to them was by two private elevators which needed keys to operate, located on the floors ranging from the first down to all three basements. Even in there the fir exits were few and the absence of windows made the labs all the more dangerous in cause of a fire. If there was a chemical outbreak that would be easier to contain but there were millions of other reasons why not many people studied in the labs.

All the more reason to make the vaccine there under Fox's ever-watchful supervision.

"Tired yet?"

The young woman rubbed her eyes, leaning away from the notes on the counter. Slipping off her lab-coat, Ester nodded and smiled at Fox. "I'm sorry. I've just been really drained of energy lately and I was wondering if I could leave you a little earlier tonight."

The man returned the smile and waved her off toward the door. "Don't worry about it. You've stayed late almost every night so far and I think I can handle checking the rest of these vaccines."

Progress could have never been better. Replicating the vaccine took a while but that was easy once you had it up for production. What was so taxing was checking each vaccine for anything wrong—like they had been for the last week or so ever since a sample of the toxin had been provided to Fox (through Bruce).

Fox rubbed his own eyes, scrolling down the list on his computer and sighing as a small problem came up. One of the vaccines didn't match the others to the letter.

Standing and working his way toward a table covered in supplies and vials of the vaccine, he took number 0190823 after the lights above the samples and the scanner switched off momentarily.

Ester, just opening the door, backed away a step and gasped. A hand reached out for her thin throat and closed around it, cutting off any and all air from her lungs. She was able to make a small choking noise and that drew Fox away from the sample, eyes shooting up toward the door over his glasses.

"Who the hell are you?"

The men were armored, clothed in black and faces hidden save for their lives. There were two of them—the shorter man holding Ester by the throat. The taller man had his sword drawn, stepping around his partner and the struggle woman toward Fox. He stopped on the other side of the table with vials, taking two into his free hand and looking them over slowly…

"Let her go!" Fox yelled, storming around the table toward Ester, hoping to at least divert her capture's attention toward himself instead.

The shorter man looked to his partner and gave a nod. Fox didn't even have the time to turn around before the blade made it's mark, entering through the right side of his chest in the shoulder joint and protruding out his front. He gave a muffled groan and swayed forward when the blade was slipped from the wound. Then he fell to the ground, vision blurring just as a sickening crack echoed in the room and Ester joined him on the floor, neck snapped in half…

Gasping for air, he reached out a hand for her and took her own…

-B-

He sped down to the hospital as soon as he heard the news, ignoring all the nurses that tried to keep him in the waiting room as he stormed toward Fox's room.

"You can't see him!" The young blond-haired nurse exclaimed, barely able to keep up with his fast-paced stride. "It doesn't matter if you're Bruce Wayne the millionaire—visiting hours are over!"

"Then you can drag me out if it's such a problem." He muttered, coat whipping behind him as he turned into the man's room, not stopping until he was at the bedside. Fox had just left surgery and so far everything seemed to be in check but…why?

Fox, finally awake (though the sedative kept him down), gave a small chuckle when he saw Bruce. "I didn't know news traveled so fast."

"Sir—"

"What happened?" He interrupted the woman, ignoring her as she tried to wave a hand in his face.

Fox gave the nurse a gentle smile and another hearty chuckle. "This is important ma'am. I'll get him out of here in just ten minutes. Please?"

She didn't seem too fond of Bruce but softened as soon as Fox spoke. "Alright…but I'll be watching the clock." Then, with a courteous nod to Bruce, she spun around on the heel of her foot and strode out the door, closing it quietly behind her.

"What happened?" Bruce repeated.

"Ra's Al Ghul's men took a visit down to the labs…" He sat up, recalling the event—and looked sharply toward Bruce. "And Ester…?"

"…Is dead. They snapped her neck in two—there was nothing anyone could do…"

"Oh…" His voice trailed off quietly. "…oh…Did they take anything?"

"Thirty samples of the vaccine along with made copies of all the information you had on the computer database. Now they know everything you do."

Fox gave a snarl in disgust. "Damn them…but it doesn't matter. I can't see any of them understanding the information."

"Who would?"

"The same people who created it. Ghul would need someone highly intelligent to study the vaccine and I can't see one of his men attending the University of Gotham."

"But I know someone who did…"

Crane—he went missing again from that woman's place. It had to be Ghul's men that took him, meaning that Ra's Al Ghul was catching up to them in the ways of purifying the city. But how would he spread another toxin if the emitter was destroyed in the train crash? It was only dangerous airborne and the worst he could do with the toxin did nothing at all in the water system. Then what did Ghul have planned? It had to be something big…otherwise he wouldn't be trying so hard to redo what he did last time.

"Dr. Crane?" Fox asked. "Isn't he in the asylum?"

"Escaped—and then I later found out he was taken again by Ghul's men."

"Well…that isn't good…"

Not in the least bit. Well, at least it made it somewhat easier for him…at least Crane and Ghul were going to be in the same place…

-C-

Working had never bothered him before—he actually liked to work, enjoyed keeping busy and putting his mind to work. After all, the mind was man's most powerful weapon and weakest part of a person. It was, by far, the strangest and most amazing thing anyone could ever come across in the universe and it always would be for as long as humankind existed. Unless, per chance, someone proved there was a God…

But now work was annoying. He didn't mind the troubling equations and the long hours of tapping a pen just to remember a part of the formula—that was the fun part. No…it was doing it against his will and for a cause conflicting with his morals that ticked him off. He wasn't the type of man to lose his temper, usually level-headed and quiet, but he had snapped at least ten pencils and a pen (which ruined his notes) in half when his mind wandered back to his current situation. And if that wasn't enough, being locked up alone in a room for seven hours straight in an eerie silence tended to get on one's nerves. It reminded him too much of the asylum.

But what could he do?

Disturbed, yet still reserved, he continued to write nonetheless and discovered Fox's work to be quite helpful. The information given to him so far was little, but Mr. Fox had practically taken apart the formula and then rebuilt it to his liking (which, thankfully for the people of Gotham City, was a cure). The rebuilt part was jut shoved off to the side, but seeing part of the formula laid out like a blue print was making his job a heck of a lot easier.

Ghul's men made it harder.

Even though he was left alone for seven hours, they were bound to come in and check up on him sooner or later. He was hoping they would forget about him and just leave him in peace so he could starve to death, but he had no suck luck. The tall African brute came to pay him a visit, caring with him another thing folder and a glass of water. These he put on the edge of the counter where Crane worked, but the doctor didn't pay an ounce of attention to the man. He kept his glasses off, one eye peering down into a telescope, left hand poised with a pen to scribble down notes. It was a plan sample of the flower that he was checking over; figuring what part of the formula Fox had been researching. The man must have known Ghul or someone else would come after the information eventually, otherwise Ghul's men would probably give him more information. The samples given to him were useless. They were destroyed—and that meant they needed to keep in a certain temperature in order to be viewed. That was something else Ghul's men had to look into…

"Ra's Al Ghul wants to know how far your research has progressed since you've begun." The man said, struggling to say the words properly in English. His dialect kept getting in the way.

At first Crane chose to ignore him. He couldn't fight physically—so he'd might as well have what little fun he could in other little ways.

"I said; Master Ra's Al Ghul wants to know how far your research has progressed." The man said a little louder, frowning at Crane's lack of respect toward him.

"I heard you the first time." Crane muttered, still gazing through the microscope and scribbling down notes.

"Then why don't you answer?"

"Simple—there is no answer. I'm stuck in the middle of a jumble, and I must first discover what parts of the puzzle I possess before I can put together a clear picture."

The man, frown darkening, crossed his arms like the menacing brute he was. "That is not good enough."

Crane paused in his writing, looking up from the microscope. "If Ra's Al Ghul is expecting a twenty-four hour miracle, he must be bordering on the side of insanity."

"You will not address him as insane!" The man bellowed, defending his master's status. "It is not your place to assess his mentality—"

"One should learn to never tell a psychiatrist that." Crane said bluntly, stating the obvious. "I study the mind for a living, sir, and when you've gone to medical school then you can tell me what I can and can not do in the ways of 'assessing someone's mentality'. Ra's Al Ghul may be a legend, but he is just as mortal as you and I, and therefore his mind is nothing out of the ordinary. He can become insane as easily as the next man."

The man's face contorted with a boiling fury, but he kept his fists from striking Crane down. As much as he would have loved to snap the doctor in half, he knew the importance of his help contributed toward they're cause.

"You should learn to hold your tongue..." The man growled, hands flexing. "It is not healthy to speak unwisely of your betters."

Crane smiled. "Actually, it's unhealthy to not speak your mind, not to grow into a proper minded individual. You, of all people, should know that."

Self-control was one of the things the man lacked and he could not hold the rage back nay further. His fist came crashing down onto the table where Crane's own hand had been moments before, shattering wood and bending the countertop downward. Crane, arching an eyebrow, gave the counter a good look and then stared back at the man as he pulled back his fist once more.

"Temper, temper. I suppose your social skills are lacking, now aren't they?"

The man growled again. "As far as my orders go, I do not remember anything being said about your tongue. I don't think you will need to speak anyhow while you work for master Ra's Al Ghul..."

"Opinions? See how far we've progressed! At least now I know you're not a complete zombie biding the every will of Ra' Al Ghul. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about yourself today?"

The man's annoyance only grew tenfold before he lashed out again, this time aiming for Crane's face. Crane wasn't a martial arts master, but he knew when to duck and, slipping off his chair, he backed away a couple of feet cautiously. He couldn't help himself. It was just so fascinating to see their reactions to his remarks and insults. They were such an easy lot to stir up, aside from Ghul who would have probably punished them if he found out they were acting so irrationally.

"Now, now, that wasn't such a nice thing to do, was it? You can't progress to the next stage if you constantly allow your anger to get the best of you." He grinned, but continued to back away slowly toward a second counter as the tall man moved forward after him. "And if you're going to hit me, at least aim first. If you continue to destroy my work area, when and where will I create Ghul's new toxin?"

Consideration came across the man's face, but he still loomed forward. "I'll be careful." He said, grinning himself as he cracked his left hand.

"I appreciate that—really, I do…" He ducked again and laughed. He knew the man could do better, but orders were getting in the way. "Come on. Who am I going to complain to if you hit me? The police?"

The man paused. He knew how one suffered is they disobeyed an order…

"Fifteen seconds—go ahead. It's not like you can do anything amazing in that amount of time."

The man took this to heart, eyes narrowing, and he swung again at Crane, knuckles brushing against his chin as Crane barely stepped back in time. His fists came again and forced Crane to step around the counter to put something between them.

"Ten seconds left…" Crane mocked. "I'm being honest. It is not in my profession to lie. I'm all about digging down deep and revealing the truth."

The man muttered something barely audible and swung again—this time his fist connecting with the advanced microscope Crane picked up off the counter. Whoever had last used it never took the glass slide off the stage and it crunched quickly in the blow, a large shard stabbing in between the index and middle knuckle of the man's hand. He pulled his hand back swiftly in reflex and pulled the shard of glass from the fresh wound, glaring at his fist before his eye turned menacingly on Crane.

"Fifteen seconds are up." Crane smirked. "But I can give you a retry for hurting yourself. Looks awful."

"I'm not that weak—"

Someone down the hall must have heard the ruckus. What kept them from checking up when the counter collapsed was beyond Crane's understanding, but perhaps it was the lack of yelling and shouting to follow that drew the need for worry. In any case, the door burst open to reveal yet two more of Ghul's goons. They both took a couple of seconds to eye the broken counter curiously before turning their glaring eyes on the first bloke.

Crane, sighing, gently placed the ruined microscope back in its place…although, it didn't look like much of a microscope anymore, more of one of those odd sculptures someone threw together and called art.

The first of the two guards barked something at the man in their language before they stormed back into the hall, leaving Crane at the peak of curiosity and confusion. He really would have to further his studies into the League of Shadows. They were a country all their own.

Smiling to himself, he walked back to his first counter and grabbed his notes, taking them with the few samples of the vaccine which he had to another counter. Then he turned back to the first counter and ran his hand along the cracked wood. It didn't quite splinter, hit hard enough that the wood broke more like glass or stone. Mind you, the wood was as had as stone. It took on a spider-web design, the center of the destruction fitting to the man's fist. He could tell which knuckles hit the wood first by the smaller bits of wood near the center—which would be the middle and second last knuckles of his right fist. It was a stupid move; you were supposed to always punch with the index and middle finger knuckles making contact first, but the man was too furious to care. That was something Crane had to keep stashed away in the back of his mind—how to push the buttons of Ghul's men. There was a way around them—yes, despite the awesome strength and amazing skill, they were still mortal men…they were prone to make mistakes just the same as he was…

Returning to his work, he took out a fresh piece of paper, taking up his pen, and made a note on what he discovered in shot-hand writing. Unless Ghul studied all the forms of writing (hand-written, printed, short-hand, etc…), Cranes private notes should be safe for the time being.

-R-

He flipped the coin between his fingers and leaned back in the chair, thinking. Crane didn't do something just for nothing, and no matter how insane he either was or was not, there was always a plan behind his actions. Ghul could understand why his man would want to hit Crane if he was taunting the hell out of him, but Crane wouldn't just be taunting him if for nothing. Dr. Crane, despite his mind balancing on the side of insanity, didn't exactly sound like he wanted the man to leave the room. He coaxed him on to attack and he succeeded.

He was up to something…

That's what happened when two great minds clashed—one began to plan and the other picked up any signs that the other was formulating something. The problem was, both kept countering the other and that led to a circle where they were forever second-guessing each other's moves.

Ghul rather wished Crane was still in the dark about his true intentions with Gotham City. The man was easier to deal with when he believed only the perverted people of the rotting city would pay.

"If you have something to give him, just give it to him and leave the room despite what he says." Ghul ordered his second-in-command. The man would pass on the orders to the rest of the league the moment he left the room. "And for now on I will go on my own to check on the doctor's progress. No one else is to attack the doctor again unless he delivers the first blow, and that will be simply to disarm him. Is that understood?"

The man bowed his head. "Yes, sir. Nothing of this sort will ever happen again." He straightened.

Ghul sighed. "Any other news?"

"Bruce Wayne…" The man started and Ghul froze to listen. "…is nowhere to be found. He attends work as he should, but he resides in a place we have yet to find. We've checked all his other residences and found no one there, along with other available homes in the area of his last home. It seems that…he disappears after he is finished with each day."

Trust Bruce to use his skills every second of his life. Ghul knew for a fact that it was impossible to disappear off the face of the earth and obviously Bruce was still in Gotham. News of the infamous Batman was still rolling out in the papers and Bruce Wayne was still popping up somewhere in public. But what did it matter? If Ghul couldn't confront him somewhere private, maybe he's go out one night just to catch the Bat instead under the protection of his beloved night. After all, Ghul had yet to see Batman lurking around outside during the day.

"Very well…leave."

The man bowed his head again and left the room quickly, Ghul once more alone with his thoughts. Ad soon as he was healed again he would make sure to drop by and pay Bruce a visit, whether it was with the man in his "human" ego or that of the bat. All in good time though…he had time…

Didn't he?

-A-

My vacation to PEI was crazy and now I'm wondering what to do. I'm actually…kind of tired, seeing that it _is_ 2:02 a.m. my time here in good old Edmonton and I'm yawning non-stop. I've been trying to get back into my TT mood and I found this chapter lying around. I know the story is progressing slowly, but it will speed up soon. Don't worry, I'm just trying to make it interesting—just make sure to tell me if I'm boring to you. Although I only take advice when it suits me best, I'm always open to opinion. Any requests? Sometimes you guys come up with some really cool ideas which gets me into action for writing….so…by all means, speak.

_Until Again,_

_Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	7. Chapter 7

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

Hmmm….I really have no idea what to tell you guys. I've been busy study (got conditional acceptance into university—so happy!—Sciences, here I come!—) so I haven't written anything new or mind-blowing. My younger sister and I just watched "Batman Begins" again so she kindly asked me to update my story. I apologize to those of you that were hoping I would update another one of my stories. :) Maybe next time…

DISCLAIMER: Refer to first chapter…

CHAPTER SEVEN: Death changes a man

Progress was slow.

Actually…that was a lie. He told Ghul "Progress was slow" the last time he dropped by the check up on him just to throw him off. The man didn't seem impatient or frustrated; seeming to take into consideration the small amount of time Crane had been working on it already. He just nodded and left, talking to me posted outside in their native language before leaving.

Now, as for that progress…

He was able to replicate what he had before—_and_ make a new form. It, too, like its predecessor, had to be inhaled for it to make any affect on its victim, but it lasted only moments. Five minutes tops—but he knew that wasn't going to float with Ra's Al Ghul. People weren't going to start killing each other until after _at least_ ten minutes.

Five minutes simply wasn't good enough.

Crane fought against his inner demon whether or not he should take a break. Part of him was in love with his work—there was nothing more relaxing on the face of the planet—but the other part of him blatantly reminded him that anything he was working on was making the world a better place for _Ra's Al Ghul_. And in the end, the latter of the two new voices won him over.

Leaning back from his microscope, he replaced his glasses on his face and picked up his notes. The least he could do was review them, see, perhaps, if he made a minor mistake that would account for the shortened length of time the poison affected people.

Then he got an idea…a horrible, but frightfully pleasant, idea…

It only took him a day to realize the guards were purposefully annoying him. Not out of fear—heavens no!—but because of Ghul's orders. That certainly explained why Ghul came in person to ask about the drug.

Gathering up a few random sheets of his notes (they wouldn't understand them anyway), he straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose and made his way over to the door. Then he knocked.

It took the guards a minute to decide whether or not they should open the door, and when they did the man whom he attacked a while back scowled at Crane menacingly.

"What?" The man barked.

Crane, knowing that the man wouldn't actually hurt him unless he possibly attacked first, looked unfazed by the man's tone of voice and shoved the notes in his face. The man took them and stared at the first sheet, baffled, before handing them to his partner. The second man looked as though he didn't have a clue what they said either.

"I think I've found something." He explained. "But, seeing how busy your boss must be, I'm going to give you a sample to give to him instead of calling him down to check for himself."

The second man nodded and the first appeared mildly impressed. "This is good news." He murmured in his heavy dialect.

"Good, then follow men." Crane snatched his notes back and led the man warily to the desk. "It is very important that you handle my sample with care. The effects are catastrophic."

The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as Crane reached for one of the Petri disks containing a large sample of dust. "What kind of _cat-a-stro-fic_?"

"_Horrible_ after-effects." Holding the first sample in one hand, he grabbed another with his free hand. The wrist was still mildly sore from Ghul's attack but fine enough should he have to hit someone with it. "They begin rotting from the inside-out." He continued, forgetting what he originally wanted to saw. He was just winging it from here, trying to make the aftermath sound gruesome. "Have you ever seen any horror movies before, you know—the ones with all the zombies?"

The man looked worried. "I don't think the master will be too please. He wants the people to kill each other."

"Well, that's why I'm sending him a couple of samples. He can try them out and see if he likes them or not." Crane offered one to the man.

And just as the man reached out to grab the sample, Crane jerked it upward toward his face and smiled as the man choked on the white powder. The man freaked. Too frightened to say a word, the man gasped and fell back against the counter, hands scrambling for purchase as his knees buckled and he sat down on the floor.

Hmm…the new drug was a bit stronger than the last batch, but it had pretty much the same effect. Giving the man a crooked smile, he looked toward the door and faked a panicked voice as he called to the other guard—

"Help! Your idiot friend inhaled the damn stuff!"

The second guard heard his cry through the door and opened it immediately. He raced to his friend's side, frowning in disgust at the way the first man scrambled away from him.

"What happened?" The guard grumbled.

"It went something like this—" And with that, Crane flung the second Petri dish at the man's face and watched as he too crumbled to the floor like a frightened child. But this one had sense enough to reach for his dagger.

Crane knew well enough that he was still in quite a bit of danger. Ghul knew that people who were afraid could attack on a whim, and this guard wasn't going to sit idly like his friend. That, and the fact that this version of the drug wasn't going to last as long.

Crane didn't hesitate. He snatched the heavy (and expensive) microscope off the counter and swung down at the man's head. He was out like a light and his second friend joined him a second later, releasing a blood-curdling scream before the heavy piece of equipment connected with the crown of his head.

In his heart of hearts, Crane didn't care much how the men would feel when they woke up. What frightened him though…was the possibility of death. These men were trained for war but…that didn't make them immortal.

Originally Crane planned to make it down the hall just to find a phone and call the cops. He knew that meant jail for him (so long as it wasn't the asylum) but anywhere was better than under the watchful eyes of Ra's Al Ghul. Now he just stood there, stunned by his own handy-work. The first man he hit had slummed over, possibly suffering from a concussion, but the second…

Part of the skull cracked where the microscope connected with his head, bits of blood and brain apparent to Crane's eyes where he stood, hovering above the poor soul. It had never been in Crane's intentions to kill either of the two men, despite how much he hated him. But he was angry and a bit overwhelmed by his current circumstances…somewhere in the back of his mind he mistakenly convinced himself that these men could handle any kind of blow.

Evidently, he was wrong.

"Bravo."

Crane started. He hadn't expected anyone else to be there—least of Ra's Al Ghul.

The doctor turned toward the door and accidentally dropped the microscope. Parts of the lens shattered in the fall, adding to the damage report of the already-battered equipment. This would be the second one he destroyed in the week.

Ra's Al Ghul paused to look at the microscope before staring at his fallen men. Two more guards stood behind him, both ready to attack at the drop of a hat. "I must congratulate you for your ingenuity, Dr. Crane. Once again, you've proven your worth against men of muscle."

"…I think…I killed one." Crane said in a small voice, kneeling down before the broken men. He reached forward to begin his inspection, ever the doctor when it came to aiding those that were ill or wounded.

Two hands shot out to catch each of his wrists, and it took Crane a moment to realize it was from one of Ghul's bodyguards instead of the two wounded (or dead) men. He felt dazed…detached…

'_I'm in shock.'_ He suddenly realized, the doctor side of his mind piecing together the information. _'I'm not a killer.'_

'_Yeah right. I just tried to kill the DA a couple of nights ago with a concentrated dose of the original drug.'_

…No.

He stood and didn't fight the man when he pushed him a few steps back from his fallen comrades. The second bodyguard knelt before the seemingly dazed of the two guards, pulling out a small vile of smelling salts from his belt and waving it beneath his nose. The man began to stir.

"Move." Crane told the man blocking his way. The shock was wearing off as he began to relate this experience to another fatal incident in an operation room years ago. He'd been around the dead and dying before. "He could still be al—"

The kneeling bodyguard suddenly produced a dagger and swung at the bloody man—the blade sheathed itself in his forehead.

Startled, Crane suddenly moved forward—only to be stopped by the bodyguard. He grabbed Crane by his shoulders and held him there threateningly as Ghul stepped forward to inspect the mess.

"You shouldn't be upset." Ra's Al Ghul stated plainly. He turned briefly to offer Crane a small smile before returning his gaze to the dead man. "You accomplished something the great Batman failed to achieve. He never had the strength to kill a man."

"The criminals you're trying to destroy also kill people." Crane spat. "And I already know what you think of them."

"Ah, but your case possesses a certain amount of nobility." Ghul explained. "Whereas those criminals kill for their own well-being, you killed this man for the sake of those few innocent people residing in Gotham City. I finished the job here because someone as weak as this man shouldn't have been able for you to kill him. Either he was weak, or perhaps, yet again, I am underestimating you."

The second guard—the one that was merely dazed—woke groggily. He rubbed his sore head and then noticed Ghul.

"Go." Ghul grumbled to the man, watching as the failed guard worked his way across the room and out the door. There was no doubt Ra's Al Ghul was upset with the man, but he probably wouldn't kill him. It wasn't exactly easy to bring an army of trained ninjas into America without the government taking notice, so each man had a certain value…

The guard holding Crane released his arms and took a step back, allowing for him to face Ghul properly. "Even your men don't deserve to die."

Ghul seemed surprised by the answer, but his expression returned to that of a small smile. "I'll let you sleep on that thought. You'll feel different about it in a couple of days."

Crane felt like saying something akin to _'yah right'_. But kept his mouth shut as Ghul nodded to one of his thugs. A fist connected with the side of his head and he was knocked unconscious yet again, for the soul sake of keeping Ghul's many hide-outs in complete secrecy…

-R-

When they returned to his apartment, he ordered one of his guards to lock Crane in his room. "Take him to wash up when he wakes." Ghul instructed after noting a faint hint of the white powder in the man's hair and on his sweater. He didn't want Crane getting any ideas when he woke. "And bring him a change of clothes. Get rid of those."

The man nodded as he half-dragged, half-carried Crane's limp form down the hall. Ra's Al Ghul entered his office with his second-in-command in toll. The man seemed to be uneasy about something.

"Tell me what's on your mind." Ghul said as he sat down in his desk. He leaned back and relaxed his weary bones, still exhausted by the healing effects of his body. Soon, though, he'd be back up to speed with everything.

"…You didn't punish him. I'm sure if we beat him hard enough he would follow orders a bit more diligently."

"…I'm not so sure about that."

Ra's Al Ghul could see things in a man. The way Crane thought—the way he spoke and acted all suggested someone who was used to abuse and had grown somewhat immune to it. True, if beaten Crane might work a bit more quietly, possibly stop harassing his men altogether, but Crane was the kind of man to hold a grudge. The doctor would make sure Ghul and his man would pay for it somehow in the long run.

"An intelligent fellow is a man to fear." Ghul clarified. "Besides, if I wanted a quiet nit-wit I would have gathered all of Crane's notes and given them to another capable scientist. Having said that, I'm not quite sure there is anyone else _capable_ of understanding the kind of work Dr. Crane is involved in."

"We have time." The man frowned. "Bruce will surely save the city from the last drug, but he won't fair well against a new version. In a few years he'll forget about us."

Ghul nodded. "True, but this idea can be used for further cities that we mean to destroy. The government will find a way to cure each and every drug we put out there, but with Dr. Crane we can continue modifying it—even produce a different sort of drug that would also fit our means. I mean to keep the doctor until we've exhausted his uses."

"Which could go on until he's old and dying." The man replied distastefully. He really wasn't too fond of the doctor.

"Hopefully." Ghul answered truthfully. "But it would be so much easier if he was on our side instead of against us. Today he moved a step closer in our direction when he killed someone. All men heal in time—especially those with a resolve as great as Crane's, and so he'll have to forgive himself sooner or later. And I _know_ he won't kill himself if he hopes to save the people he loves. In the meantime, I would like to persuade him of my cause."

The man gave him a look that said _'good luck'_ before bowing and asking his leave. Ghul granted it and watched the retreating man's back, not moving from the spot even an hour after he left. There was so much to consider when dealing with Crane, and with Bruce roaming the city like a wild dog he had to keep his guard up constantly. But he knew men. He could tell what made each man tick and he was relying heavily on that to sway Crane over to his way of thinking. It was a delicate game but he had time…and patience…

…he'd been patient most of his life…

-A-

Vola. A chapter. I hope it gives you a bit of insight as to how I plan to keep this story going :)

_-Until again,_

_-Alexnandru Van Gordon_


	8. Chapter 8

The Heron and the Crane

Alexnandru Van Gordon

Special thanks to **FalconHorror** for the insightful review. I still have quite a bit of work to do with this story but I'm getting there :)

DISCLAIMER: Didn't you know? Ghul owns everything…

CHAPTER EIGHT: Inner turmoil

Sarah nearly fainted when she found the Batman standing in her living-room a couple of nights after Dr. Crane's sudden disappearance. She half-expected him to turn her in for hiding Jonathon, but her words must have made some head-way to his heart. He didn't look angry.

…Then again, a person really couldn't tell how he felt with the help of that nifty mask of his.

"Can I help you?" She asked, glancing at the make-shift key protruding from the new lock on her door. "…Did you leave something behind?"

"No." He answered bluntly, fiddling with something on his belt. Squinting, she noticed that he was slipping something into one of the hidden compartments. "I was busy taking finger prints."

"_My_ finger prints?"

"Prints around the windowsills, on some of the furniture—to identify the criminals with. I'll need a sample from you and anyone else that resided in this apartment to weed out any matches in the police database."

"…Alright…" She answered hesitantly. Sarah took a seat at her table and watched as he continued loading tap-prints into his belt compartment. "So…are you saying you can find the thugs that did this to him with the help of these prints?"

"Not likely." He said honestly. "I don't expect these _thugs_ to be in the database, which is why I'm handing the prints over to the police. If the men that took him slip up they may leave their prints at another scene. It might help me track them down."

Sarah swallowed the lump forming in her throat, worried that they might find Crane—washed up from the river. "So…does this help you substantially?"

"…No. Only if they slip up." He looked up at her, his expression remaining stoic. "But it's a place to start."

She nodded. "Just…tell me if you get anywhere close to finding him. I owe him so much and I…and I really want to help him in any way possible."

Sarah might have been mistaken but she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile spread across his face before it vanished altogether half a second later. "…I'm sure if you stop using the back entrance of your apartment, he'll learn to forgive you."

Oh yeah…that's where _she_ could start…

-C-

This white room was being to bother him…_really_ bother him…At least in the lab he was able to focus on his work, but there was nothing in here aside from the desk, a lamp and the bed he was lying on. The egg-shell colour of the ceiling was especially beginning to get on his nerves; reminded him too much of his _beloved_ asylum…

He woke up with a throbbing headache. The brute sitting at his desk hadn't made it any better for him when he tossed him into the large bathroom across the hall and ordered him to strip. Crane had his dignity. After a long drawn out argument, Crane won his privacy and took the shower the guard ordered him to take (after all, Ghul had bars installed across the window; it wasn't as though Crane was going anywhere any time soon). But then, after he was finished, he realized the man snuck back in earlier and stole his clothes, replacing them with a pair of jeans and a plain, long-sleeved black top.

Crane reached the conclusion that Ra's Al Ghul wasn't going to take any chances with the dust in his possession—hence the shower and the change of clothes. It cut Crane's chances of sneaking any of his work to the apartment down by half.

He still had a couple of ideas.

The man opened the door a moment after he finished dressing and led Crane across the short distance of the hall into his room. The door slammed shut behind him and the audible _click!_ of the lock echoed loudly in his small and empty white room for what seemed like an eternity.

…He was going to lose his mind.

Oh wait—he already had.

That brought him back to the present where he lay on the bed in utter boredom. There was no clock for him to use, but the sky outside his barred window was pitch black and he was sure by the gnawing ache in his stomach that it had to be at least twelve hours since the last time he ate. One of the guards gave him a piece of toast early in the morning before he was taken unceremoniously to the lab. He hadn't had anything else to eat since then.

Sighing to himself, Crane tired to close his eyes and sleep. Then the vicious cycle began again. He saw the bits of bone and brain from that guard again and his conscious forced him to wake again.

What was wrong with him?! He nearly killed that damn woman with his drug and he once lit Gotham's caped crusader on fire—not to mention the large number of thugs he tortured in his asylum. He knew people were going to die when his serum was administered to the entire city…well, not to the extent that Ghul planned, but accidents do happen when people are terrified. Besides, the people like those idiots that used to beat him up and poke fun at him for his long, lanky appearance were going to die too.

'_That's a poor excuse for murder.'_

Crane scowled. Maybe Ra's Al Ghul was right. Sin was like cancer—if it spreads too far then there's nothing you can do for the patient except make their last few days as comfortable as possible. The city was like a person and the crime was like terminal cancer—Gotham had to die. The only difference here was the fact that it's last few days in existence wasn't going to be a walk in the park (if Ghul had his way), but at least it would be quick.

'…_That's still a poor excuse. Come on—cancer?!'_

'_Sod off.'_ He thought to himself. _'No one's asking you.'_

Now where was he…Oh yes, Gotham and crime. Ghul would purge the city of all its evil and then it could be made anew.

…And then what? If Ghul had his way, he'd want to keep the momentum going—what other cities did he have in mind after he destroyed the hell hole known as Gotham. Ghul was like a brat in a candy-shop, someone who obviously hadn't heard the word _'No!'_ enough times to teach him a bit of manners. If Ra's Al Ghul was going to cleanse the world then that's what he was going to do—no questions asked. Anyone who had a problem with it could discuss it with his massive army of highly-trained ninjas.

'_I hate people.'_ He decided. _'I really do. They bother you when you want to be left alone and tangle themselves in matters that don't concern them. They expect you to care about things that really mean little to you and attack you when you've got your back turned…'_

'_And then they lend you a decent hiding place when you're running from the cops and the big bad Batman.' _The other voice intruded. _'What about Sarah? You helped her and she returned the favor.'_

Yeah, but people were greedy beings. They only gave something away for a price. Sarah probably wouldn't have helped him if she wasn't being attacked by Fred. She would have called the cops.

'_Maybe…maybe not. She could have just bought you a bus ticket and told you to leave, but she didn't.'_

Because his eyes were sore. He was maimed.

'_All the more reason to abuse your aid. She could have left you in her apartment and called the cops on you during the day.'_

True…but maybe she was afraid of him?

'_So what if you're not an extrovert kind of guy—you still care about the good people in the world. They may not fascinate you enough to get you to care about them, but you can work with them. They make your life easier in some ways…'_

…Yeah, that was also kind of true.

'_Then go on hating them—just don't kill them. You can spit on them for all anyone cares; just don't give Ghul any leverage. He's the kind of bully you dealt with as a kid.'_

He was, wasn't he? Ghul might have acted like a decent man, but there was a grinning demon behind that polite facade of his. He didn't care about a person unless they could be considered a saint—and even then he was willing to sacrifice them just for the sake of killing off the bad guys in the world. Crane really did hate people, but not enough to destroy them all.

'…_What have I done?'_

If he hadn't accepted Ghul's challenge in the first place, the man would have never been able to attack the city like he did a couple of days ago. Sure, possibly a couple of his damn crazies were dead, but maybe also a few innocent folk. God only knows how many of them were injured in the brawls.

This was not going to be an easy war to wage against Ra's Al Ghul.

Speak of the devil…

Someone fiddled with the lock on the outside of his door and a guard stepped aside to let Ghul in. The door was shut behind him but the lock remained free and the guard didn't follow his master inside—another sample of Ghul's arrogance. The man knew he didn't need any help to stop Crane should he attack.

"Lovely weather we've been having." Crane stated as he sat up and stared at the window. "I hope it doesn't rain again."

Ghul knew very well that Crane could see little of the city—and even less of the sky—outside his small, high window. But he nodded anyway, shrugging off the comment as a bit of Crane's insanity. "Few clouds. The rain's let up for a while now."

"Good for all those picnickers tomorrow afternoon." Crane returned his gaze to Ghul, trying to find any sign of actual emotion in the man's face. So far all he saw with the cool/calm/collective stare of the infamous Ra's Al Ghul. "How may I help you, Mr. Decard?"

"I just wanted to know how you were feeling." Ghul took the seat at the desk and glanced briefly at his watch. "You've been quiet for an awfully long time."

"I could sing if you want, but I'm not too good at it."

Ghul smiled. "No thank you. I enjoy the peace and quiet just as much as you do."

"Picky tonight, aren't we?" Crane, looking bored, returned his gaze to the high window. He could sort of see a star…unless that was a helicopter… "First I make a ruckus and then you're upset, and now that I'm quiet you think there must be something wrong with me. I think if you made up your mind, we'd both be happier men."

"Which is why I'm here." Ghul's smile remained. He was starting to remind Crane of a wooden dummy. "I wanted to know: are you happy?"

"And all this time I thought you could read minds…" Crane fixed Ghul with a small smile of his own. "You disappoint me. I was going to ask when it was going to rain again."

"That's what weathermen are for, Dr. Crane. I wanted to know how you felt about the man you killed today."

Ra's Al Ghul's endless amount of patience was starting to get on his nerves—not to mention the smile. While Crane was trying to annoy the man, he was doing the exact same thing in turn. "…Tell me why you want to know and maybe I'll give you an honest answer."

Ghul paused to think about this. "…Because then it gives me a good idea of how able you are to work at the moment."

_That_ wasn't an honest answer, so Crane decided was going to dance around giving him a straight one in turn. "I'm always able to give my top performance despite how I feel. You have to be that way when you're dealing with some of my regular patients."

Whether Ghul got the analogy or not, he didn't show it. He rubbed his hands together and stared at them for a moment before continuing. "Fair enough. But that still doesn't answer my question. How do you _feel_, Dr. Crane?"

Crane gave a small laugh. "I think I've played doctor longer than you have, Mr. Decard. I'm pretty good at this game."

"Then you know that I don't need a straight answer to analyze you." Ghul fixed his eyes with Crane's, searching for something. "You've given me quite a bit of information already."

"In my experience, sometimes silence reveals more."

Ghul laughed. "Ah yes, so it would seem. You're upset at what happened, but you're getting over it. That's good."

With that said, the man stood and brushed some invisible dust off his lap. Then, giving Crane one last look, headed for the door.

"…Why did you want to know?"

Ghul just smiled. The damn bastard simply_ smiled_ and left without another word.

The guard snuck in briefly to leave a bowl of rice and a glass of water on the desk, and then locked the door for good that evening. A heavy silence followed...

Crane scowled at the food before ignoring it altogether. They probably gave him the chopsticks just because they knew he couldn't use them very well…

-A-

I'm on a roll today. I'm beyond the point of caring whether or not anyone reviews, but your comments and concerns are always warmly welcomed :)

_-Until again,_

_-Alexnandru Van Gordon_


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